The Diary of Miss Simplicity Battleaxe
by Nonsuch
Summary: Ever wondered what kind of a character Jareth was when growing up? Look no further than the diary of his formidable nurse, a certain Miss Simplicity Battleaxe. *NEW CHAPTER* *NEW REVISIONS*
1. Chapter 1

The Diary of Miss Simplicity Battleaxe

_Translator's Note_

_I found the diary of a Miss Simplicity Battleaxe among my sister Sarah's belongings. My sister has collected a variety of unusual items relevant to the Goblin Kingdom, and after her mysterious disappearance twelve years ago, this with other assorted papers and relics came into my possession. Since I have started university I have devoted extensive time and energy to learning more about these objects, and have succeeded in translating the diary of the aforementioned lady from the original Dwarfish into English. The text provides a detailed and vivid portrayal of life in the royal house of the Goblin City, as Miss Battleaxe clearly had a knack for storytelling. _

_I sincerely hope that you, insightful reader, enjoy these transcripts._

_Toby Williams_

_January 2007_

_Note for the Second Edition: as of 2010, the manuscript is being revised for errors of spelling and grammar. Inaccurate and misleading translations have been corrected, and it is my sincere wish this results in a happier reading experience. Enjoy._

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**HANDS AND CLAWS OFF (ESPECIALLY YOU CLARITY!)**

_**1st Jansplur (January)**_

A new year, and I am embarking on a new life! Today I leave home for the first time, venture beyond the dwarf kingdom, to take on the role of nurse to the youngest child of the Goblin King, Prince Jareth. His parents have apparently had trouble controlling the mite (for he is but four years of age) and have seen off a procession of a no less than a hundred and twenty-seven nurses for the child! It is claimed by gossips that he tormented them mercilessly, shot at them with his toy cannon, pulled at their hair, bit them, and kicked them in the shins. Each woman left claiming him to be the spawn of the devil. Despite all this, I rest assured in the knowledge that they are exaggerating the child's naughtiness. My mother (may the almighty Scrabble preserve her bountiful soul) told me that even the most wicked of children could be tamed by a work hardened Dwarven hand, and I am sure to discipline the child more effectively than my predecessor. I even heard some of them were Elves! Have mercy on the children, dear Lord Scrabble! _Elves_, imagine it - such feeble minded wantons!

I bring with me little in the form of material possessions; this diary, a few diverting novels, a necklace conferred to me upon the passing of my mother (may the almighty Scrabble preserve her bountiful soul), a Dwarven almanac, a sharp edged belt, undergarments, my best Sunday dress, day clothes and a leather bag in which to hold all of the aforementioned possessions. I hope to purchase more commodities upon arrival; I have been informed the Goblins hold a market every new moon cycle, so there will be many opportunities for spending my wages.

It is a long journey from home to the Goblin City. I have been travelling since the night of Scrabbleday now. Oh happy day! The last time I will be in the company of my dear, aged father and twenty-seven siblings for a long while. I must briefly elaborate on Scrabbleday. It is such a wonderful holiday, we wake at dawn and exchange gifts (berries from the forest, pressed flowers) in the comfort of the parlour, before eating a hearty roast and making merry in the afternoon. I feel immense sadness at having to leave all behind, but trust in Constance and Clarity to take good care of all at home.

We are currently riding alongside the Labyrinth itself - the centrepiece of the kingdom I am here to serve. It is an awesome structure, stretching out for miles. It is formed of a variety of components, a labyrinth of stone, a hedge maze, and several dark, skeletal woods being among them. One can only feel pity for those who have to run its walls; it must be an utterly frightful experience. I shall have to find time in which to write to Clarity and tell her of my journey, her reading is coming along nicely - she is now able to comprehend simple language. Who knows? Maybe when she is fully grown she will be rewarded with a station as illustrious as my own. I do hope so, father would be so grateful for more money.

I am writing here as it is a good practise, for writing encourages sharpness of mind and soul alike. Unfortunately my circumstances do not allow for exemplary calligraphy, as the carriage is exceedingly bumpy and the driver appears to be inebriated. The horses themselves are little better, frail, wheezing sacks of bone. I do hope they stay alive until we reach my destination. Thankfully, I have been informed we will be arriving early in the morrow – only a few hours remain!

Good night, oh precious pages! Tomorrow I shall visit you again!

_**2nd Jansplur**_

Today has been gloriously eventful! I arrived in the morn, at around eight, and was informed by the sentry I would need to wait in the throne room, where I would be introduced to the Royal family. It is a most squalid place, an ugly, stone throne hung with decaying cloth is the centrepiece of the room and the floor is strewn with hay, as if it were a lowly barn! Dozens of Goblins crowded the place, chasing chickens and making general mischief - one of the devils tried to creep underneath my skirts (thankfully, I realized his plan and chased him away before he could succeed, the devil!)

After a wait of around an hour, the Royal family began to filter into the room. I will describe each in turn, the king himself is an imposing figure, threatening, with a cold, dispassionate voice and a melancholy disposition. He viewed me with a brief look of intense disinterest, and spent most of the meeting taunting some of his subjects. I doubt we are to be friends. His wife is an entirely different matter; she is somewhat chubby with a pinched but smiling face. She looked exceptionally tired, but which woman would be in full sprits after giving life to fourteen babes? She looks to be a most agreeable mistress, and welcomed me warmly with little suggestion of distance or division. The elder boy, the Crown Prince Lasander, is clearly sickly. I assume he is around fifteen years of age, but he looked so pale and feeble he could have been any age between nine thousand and eleven. He did not speak with me. Lasander was followed into a room by his twelve sisters, pretty girls ranging in age from nineteen to six. I was told their names, but instantly forgot them. All had similar features; blonde curling hair (like their mother's), brilliant blue eyes and pale, delicate faces. Their natural similarities were accentuated by their identical dresses, all blue with white ribbons tied tightly across the middle. The older girls looked slightly distressed by their clothing, and the eldest of them all glared at the bow around her waist with a look of utter disdain. They were a morose band, clearly repulsed by the state of their father's castle and anxious to return to their rooms, no doubt. Jareth himself had entered with his mother, and she clung adamantly to his little hand. In his shyness, he spent most of our first meeting with his head burrowed deep in the folds of his mother's dress. From the few looks I snatched of his face, he is an exceptionally pretty child. He has an abundance of wispy fair hair, lovely elfin features and was even dressed in skirts like a wee girly! His mother clearly dotes on him, and spent most of the introduction with her free hand absently toying with his hair.

I was informed by the Queen that I will inhabit a room adjoining that of the child, so as to be at hand for him at all hours of the night or day (apparently he has a tendency to wake up at odd times throughout the night, complaining of nightmarish visions). It was only when left alone with the child in his chambers that he started to show indications of his true nature. Whilst unpacking my belongings, the child took it upon himself to rifle through my bag the moment my back was turned! He even flipped through the pages of this very diary, addressing me to say "Oi, slave, what strange text be this?" Thankfully, he only knows Goblinian and was unable to make out a single word. Nonetheless he received a clip behind the ear and a good scolding. I take no such insolence, and did not fret over him when he began to whimper and whine. He is not my babe, and he must learn I do not possess the lenience of his mother.

When he eventually realized I was deaf to his cries, his sobs were reduced to silence and he wandered off to play with his toys. The child has no routine, and is hopelessly over indulged. He has a chamber that is full of toys and trinkets! The centrepiece of the room is a vast scale model of the Labyrinth itself, and it was this wonder than he played with upon entering the room. He navigated a tiny, onyx figure through its many twists and turns, staring intently at the maze as he considered where to go next. He is attentive and sharp, understanding the complexities of the structure with a great maturity for one so small. I was pleased by his thoughtfulness, and aptitude for contemplation. Sadly that is only one side to his character, it is more normal for him to descend into mad fits of rage. A sizeable corner of his toy-room was devoted to the remains of destroyed playthings, headless dolls, torn pages of storybooks and cracked statues. It is my duty to ensure that this behaviour is discontinued, and that he becomes a good and pleasant child. It will undoubtedly be hard work, but I am sure there can be no greater satisfaction for a Nurse than seeing an errant charge become a good, considerate prince.

As he contented himself with his trifles, I did some sewing to occupy my hands (Constance desperately needs some new mittens) before taking my supper in the kitchens with the guards – they are a dreadfully ill-mannered bunch, not one of them spoke! I was relieved when it was time to put the little one to sleep, and rest my own head upon fresh, clean linen. Tomorrow the real challenge will begin – it will be time to give Jareth that most dreaded of things, a schedule!

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**A/N: this chapter was completely revised on the 10/02/10. This story was originally written as a prequel of sorts to another story I started years ago called **_**Life Before Sarah?**_** It is not necessary to read it to understand what's going on here.**

**Please review, I'd love to know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**3rd Jansplur**_

The peaceable night I anticipated was not to be. I was woken just after midnight by the movement of my blankets, and reaching for my lamp, found that it was Jareth, curled up on the end of my bed as if he were a little kitten! I immediately whispered a reprimand, at which he shuffled closer to me, clinging to me with impressive strength for one so small. Resigning myself to the presence of my small companion, I asked what his troubles were. In hushed tones, he responded that he was being tormented by the Monstro Blatherguts monster (who I was later to discover was the invention of a previous Nurse). Now, to inform a child that their fear is non-existent is the path of fools, so I instead asked him to direct me to the location of the beast. With a quivering arm, he gestured to the underside of his bed. I approached carefully, and crawled underneath the structure (for once my small size was an aid to me!) where I found not a monster but a Goblin, a fat, hideously pock-marked creature whose snores made the very legs of the bed tremble. At the sight of him, Jareth descended into a furious rage. He flew at the creature, berating it for disturbing his sleep with such loose, unbridled passion that even I was unnerved. After giving the Goblin a strict warning and flinging it out of the window, I returned my attentions to Jareth. He scowled at the moon, and, being too tired to correct his temper, I ensured he went back to bed and returned to sleep myself.

I was surprised to be woken by the mistress. She shook me gently by the shoulder, speaking in quiet tones so as not to wake the child. She apologized for the lack of apparent order I had had to suffer through the previous day, and placed a piece of paper into my hands. "So you know what to do with the child," she informed me, before leaving just as silently as she had entered.

Routine for Jareth

7.00 – Wake, aid with dressing, hair, and prepare breakfast for the child.

8.00 – Bring the child to the throne room, for an hour of play with his companions.

9.00 – Bring him to my rooms for three hours, you remain as companion.

12.00 – Luncheon with the family.

13.00 - Riding lesson for two hours.

15.00 – Lessons with tutors for two hours, during this time you shall sew, or do some other profitable activity.

17.00 – Free time for three hours, let him do what he will.

20.00 – Dinner with the family.

21.00 – Prepare for bed, read him any stories you know.

21.30 – Jareth must be asleep by this time.

At first I believed this to contradict my belief that the child has no routine. But I soon learnt that although Jareth may have a routine dictated, he invested considerable effort in deviating from its course. I struggled to dress him (in miniature breeches and waistcoat I found in his wardrobe, I do not see it as good practice to dress a little boy in the clothes of a female) and feed him before taking him to the throne room. He made life a difficulty by squirming and kicking as I attired him - he even threw his bowl to the other end of the room when I pressed him to eat! I informed him that if he did not eat the next lot of broth I prepared, he would get no more. This silenced him and he scraped the bowl clean.

I must speculate that the child's mother knows not of his 'companions' between the hours of eight and nine. He appears to be ringleader of a little band of Goblin rouges, all former human children, who he encourages to wreak havoc and mayhem at every opportunity. Their first game was 'Chase the Chicken' and involved pursuing a gaggle of wretched fowls around the room, laughing at their terrified antics, until one was finally caught. The captive chicken was then held still so Jareth could kick at the wretched creature for his own pleasure. This spectacle horrified me utterly, and I picked him up after he had only managed to strike the chicken once and sat him on the throne. He scowled at me like a miniature demon, looking ridiculous for his short legs dangled high above the floor.

"Is such malevolence really suited to a prince? Tell me, Jareth, is it?"

"Papa's worse." He mumbled, looking down as he swung his feet forward in an attempt to kick me.

I paused, briefly at a loss for how to reply. Eventually I argued, "Don't you to be loved by your people? Do you not desire to be kind, and loved for that kindness?"

He mumbled incoherently, and I could not get him to agree despite my protestations. In despair I allowed him to climb down, watching forlornly as he went to play with his cronies in a corner. They dug small rocks out of the wall, and with high-pitched giggles started pelting some of the more feeble and pathetic Goblins in the gang with the stones. I decided there was no point in attempting to stop them, and allowed the madness to continue unrestrained. I was to take up the issue again later, when I took Jareth to his mother.

Her clothes had changed since the morn, she was now attired in a brilliant magenta gown that was for the most part obscured by a profusion of multi-coloured ribbons. Her parlour made a pleasing contrast to the gloom of the rest of the castle, with vibrantly coloured drapes disguising the worst areas of the ancient, damp infested walls. A thick woollen rug lay against the floor, and she had also had the placed decorated with large vases full to the brim with exotic flowers. She spent over an hour holding Jareth on her lap, bouncing the rather bored looking child as if he were an infant. She petted his hair, cooing such endearments to him as 'love bundle' and 'cheeky chops'. His expression was often grim, though I could sense his embarrassment was probably a result of my presence rather than his mother's coddling; he held onto his mother as ardently as she held him, pressing his cheek against her breast. I couldn't help but imagine his horror if his Goblin comrades could set sight on him, being babied so thoroughly! After this she sung to him. Her voice was somewhat and strained, but sweet despite its inadequacy. She was accompanied by Jareth's own cheerful warbling; his voice is surprisingly charming for a small child's, somewhat tuneful and grand.

She set Jareth down on the rug, where he lay flat on his stomach and played with its fraying edges. In the silence, I looked up from my sewing and the mistress, "I couldn't help but notice that Jareth's company this morning resulted in some ... disruption." She brushed off my concern, commenting that she found an acceptable measure of violence healthy for a growing boy while smiling fondly at her youngest child, who was in the process of crushing an insect he had found on the floor. Instead, she began reminiscing about her home, the icy land of Fjorda that lay far away in the North. She went into great detail about her family, speaking wistfully of her dear brother the King and how she longed to see him again. Her brother has a dead wife, and a young daughter, who she has never met on account of her duties as wife to the Goblin King. Although nothing was said explicitly, her words clearly implied that her husband was far from kind.

Jareth however seemed unhappy that the attention of his beloved mama had been diverted, and pulled at her skirts, pleading for a story. She humoured him, and sat him on her knee. She recounted the tale of a small boy (not unlike Jareth is manner) whose naughtiness led to a reprimand by his mother, who sent him to his chamber without supper. He was magically transported to a wild forest, inhabited by a profusion of strange and bizarre beasties. The boy quickly proved himself to be as much a beast as any of them, and was promptly crowned their King. However, as little boys do, he soon wanted for his mothers loving arms and returned home only to find no time had passed at all. I shall have to remember this story for Jareth at bedtime, as he adored it, beating his fists against her chest until she repeated the tale. She then took the child with her to the dining hall, a break I used to write to Clarity. After an hour, the child was returned to me with a full belly and a head full of enthusiasm at the prospect of horse-riding.

After being informed of where to deliver him from one of the more intelligent Goblins, I took him out of the back entrance to the Castle where the stables and associated pasture were to be found. Negligent stable hands could be soon slouched against the rickety buildings, and I beckoned to one of the miscreants to help the child with his lesson. The one I chose was a Dwarf like myself, and he quickly informed me that his name was Hoggle. He is an ignorant and surly sort, and only helped me with the greatest reluctance. He appeared to have prior knowledge of Jareth, and wearily helped him onto his small pony. Jareth promptly proceeded to dig his heels into the creature's sides, causing the frenzied creature to bolt from its stable and gallop around the yard. Jareth shrieked with glee, bowling over some of the more inexperienced stable hands as he made his way out into the pasture. After around half an hour of shouts and chasing, we managed to coax him back to us. Hoggle pulled him off, shoving him back into my arms. After I gave him a thorough scolding and threatened violence, he reluctantly allowed himself to be led around the stable-yard a few times by Hoggle. Only once did he create more naughtiness during the session, leaning forward and whispering some words into the pony's ear that caused to rear up in fright. Hoggle was very nearly trampled to a pulp! Oh, how angry he looked!

Jareth appeared to know instinctively know what was due next in the day, and once more attempted to steer his pony in the direction of the pasture as soon as I told him to come down. Thanks to Hoggle and some of the other stable-hands, we managed to stop him and dragged him kicking and shrieking to the schoolroom. How he loathes learning! He started by threatening me with torture, than by begging me for my mercy. He created a dreadful row, and only fell silent when his father shouted at him for 'Quiet!' from his study as we passed it. I continued to have to pull him along by the scruff of his shirt, only releasing him when we reached the schoolroom.

As soon as I released him, he attempted to pull open the door which I had thankfully had the foresight to lock. When the handle didn't work, he tried scratching it down. When the tutors (for there were two of them) looked at me as if to say 'Do something!' I could only shrug. Eventually Lasander looked up from his work, disturbed by the row. He rolled his eyes in dismay, exclaiming "Not him!" and rising. He picked Jareth up bodily, and deposited him behind a desk. Lasander bent down so his eyes were level with his brother's, warning him against further mischief using words I could not hear. Miraculously, Jareth did not attempt to escape again.

In the meantime, the tutors scrubbed a series of complex formulae and language from the blackboard, instead drawing sheep and little birds to aid the younger child's learning. They painstakingly tried to make him do sums, to no avail. When he was asked what was the sum of two and two, he responded 'Splurgy'. I could virtually hear the cries of despair sounding from the depths of the tutors' minds.

During the final part of the day, I had little idea what to do with him. I was reluctant to simply allow him to play, with his toys, especially after the mischief he had wreaked earlier in the day. When I reclaimed him from his tutors, they looked like soldiers who had just been killed in battle. I spoke with him for a time as an alternative to mindless play, asking him his opinion of me. He responded quickly, "Thou art short. And fat. And thou art ugly!" For his rudeness, he received three smacks. I spent many minutes explaining why one was not to refer to others as being 'fat' or 'ugly', before diverting the conversation to another topic. I asked him about his knowledge, and was shocked to discover the extent to which it was limited. He barely knew his letters (except for those that spelt out his own name), was mystified by numbers and had no understanding of politics whatsoever. I was surprised, and somewhat pleased, to see some humility in him when he confessed his lack of learning. He seemed ashamed of his faults when confronted about them privately, which is an excellent starting point for future improvement.

The time passed quickly, and before I knew it it was time for dinner. When passing him into the care of his parents, I was amazed by the brief glimpse I had of the dining hall – it was positively decadent, hung with crystals and all manner of decorations. The central table alone could have probably seated two hundred souls! Such frivolity can scarcely be imagined!

It was soon time for bed. He made trouble as I expected him to, refusing to attire himself him his nightclothes, but I eventually managed to force him through the routine, washing him down, scrubbing his teeth, combing his hair (it is really _far_ too long, I will need to speak with the mistress about having it cut). When he was tucked up in bed, I told him the story of Cinderella, an attractive young woman from a lowly background who captured the heart of a prince and lived with him happily forevermore. It contented him, and he fell to sleep with a smile adorning his lips.

It was then that I fell to my own rest, sleep was such a relief!

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**A/N: completely revised on 10/02/10. This has been surprisingly quick and easy so far, hopefully I'll be done soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**4th Jansplur**_

Jareth was yet more unyielding today. I woke to find him gone from his bed! I retained my composure however, ran whispering his name in every corner of his chamber before repeating my efforts in the adjoining passageways. He was eventually exposed when he failed to stifle a giggle, and I quickly found him huddled in the corner of a window ledge. I dragged him down, and he erupted into an uncontrollable tantrum. My God, his screams!

It was long before his sisters began congregating in the corridor, watching with amusement and gossiping between themselves. The only one to approach was the eldest, Olga, who in no uncertain terms commanded me to take the 'brat' away. Such an imperious girl, just like her father!

The morning passed just as it did yesterday, with many disruptions and problems that I found myself too exhausted to record in full. I am pleased to report he was slightly better conducted in play than yesterday, with the worst of his transgressions being that he started crayoning a wall. His mother was as excessively affectionate as she had been before, and read him another tale – one that told of an unlovely fowl who developed into a beautiful creature of soft, white feathers. Jareth disliked this story, pulling faces and damning it as an untruth. He is an odd, passionate little thing, my charge!

I had chance to speak with Hoggle properly for the first time during Jareth's riding lesson. He was frustratingly unforthcoming, answering curtly and sometimes ignoring my queries altogether! When I asked him of his family, he replied only to state that he had none. I asked him of his interests, his answer was also in the negative. Even when I asked him of his fancies, he once more admitted to nothing! He is such a shadowy figure, one of those fellows who make it impossible for you to know them. I was able to extract one useful fact from him, his family name is Bloodguzzler. How hard I had to work not to giggle! It as a most unbefitting name, for he is one of the least violent males of my species I have ever encountered. Jareth rode with passion, tormenting the stable-hand who had assigned to his care and repeatedly causing his pony to make mischief. That poor foal! It is a wonder it has not yet expired.

I began my teaching the child myself today out of pity for his tutors; I started by making him practice his letters by copying ones I had drawn out in a large, easy font. He refused at first, scribbling nonsensically, but I told him what a baby he must be if unable to scribe his letters. After this, he worked with genuine enthusiasm and vigour - he can now write the first five letters of the alphabet well. As soon as he has learned them all, I can began the hard part – teaching him how to join the letters together.

I read to him after the lesson from a story book I found in the library, holding the pages of the book before him and pointing carefully at each letter as I read, speaking with clear intonation. He appears to be picking it up, and sometimes even tried to pronounce words himself. He is a good boy, really, when seen to properly.

It is the Holy day tomorrow; I have no notion of the family's practice, or what church they follow. However my almanac includes a transcript of the Holy Book, so if there is no priest I will be capable of holding my own service. Went to sleep at ten.

_**5th Jansplur**_

I wrote yesterday speculating as to my new household's religious practices – only to find they have none! I woke early anticipating some form of ritual, and when I attempted to raise Jareth he screamed and bawled something terrible. Everyone who heard must of thought I was subjecting the child to torture. When I calmed him and asked him if he had a church, he enquired as to what a church was! I was slightly thrown from routine by this revelation, and delivered Jareth to his mother too early. She was still powdering her flushed face white when we entered, and gasped in alarm when she saw us, dropping the powder-puff. Jareth howled with merriment at the clouds of powder that billowed into the air! After apologizing profusely, I asked her the Queen if there were any religious services in the castle. She looked awkward, replying that she had asked the same question when first arriving from her (strictly Orthodox) kingdom, and had been just as surprised as I to learn this country is almost totally without any such following. She was, in her words, "but a poor, innocent child of thirteen! Delivered, unexpecting, knowing nothing of the world, to a land totally alien to me!"

The revelation helped illuminate many aspect of this strange, mad-house of a Kingdom. For a start, it explains why the King himself is such a monster. Only a few short hours ago I heard him disciplining Lasander in his study. I was obliged to pass the room to get to the schoolroom, and was alarmed to catch a glimpse of the boy kneeling before his father, blubbering pitifully as the King ranted and raved about weaknesses I could not pick up on. Poor Lasander. There is something deeply troubling about seeing him sob openly, his shows of despair posses sincerity Jareth's do not.

During Jareth's play hours (for which I had prepared a lesson) we were summoned, to my surprise, once again to the Queen's chambers. She told me in a concerned tone that Jareth's grandmother ("his father's mother, no relation of mine") had expressed a desire to see him. According to the Queen's testimony, the grandmother is ancient and infirm, half blind and utterly mad. She asked if I would take him to the old woman's room at the top of the south tower, making her reluctance to take him herself obvious. Jareth had been disinterested in our conversation until he heard 'grandmother', at which point he appeared terror stricken. He ran to his mother's skirts, pleading with her, "Mama, do not make me go and see the witch! Do not! Do not!" The Queen looked embarrassed, and responded by passing him back to my care. I do not believe she desires any contact with her children at all in their fits of naughtiness – it is no wonder she depends on Nursemaids for her children's care.

After asking many Goblins for directions to guide me through the castle (an utterly pointless endeavour, I will not bother again), and repeatedly suffering under misdirection, I came across one of my charges' sisters, Maria. She is a jolly amiable soul, with little of her father's cruelty or mother's affectations. She gladly pointed me on the right path, much to Jareth's chagrin. He stuck his tongue out at her, before complaining, "Oh Mashka, you pig!" She ignored him, bidding me goodbye and leaving us to pursue her duties.

It was only when I saw the Grandmother for myself that I realized Jareth's fears were substantiated. She is a truly fearsome woman, spiteful and mean hearted. She is remarkably odd in appearance, seeming both oddly beguiling and repulsive at once; her hair is grey and bedraggled, her skin is worn but her eyes glow amber, like the embers of a fire – such eyes! Her plentiful failings can be explained by her Elfin origin, such a foolish, vengeful race! She repeatedly reprimanded Jareth for the smallest of follies. When he tried to toy with some loose stones that were embedded in a crack in the stone-work, the harpy shrieked and attempted to hit the child with her cane. She ignored me utterly, and repeatedly forgot who the child before her was, sometimes referring to him as Lasander, other times as Leontes (perhaps the given name of the King?). She also experienced weird swings of mood, and at one point drew him onto her knee, joggling him in much the same way his mother does. He was perfectly docile as she held him, I suspect from the influence of magic – there is no way he would go near her of his own accord. She stared at him relentlessly, and Jareth failed to react to the intensity of her gaze, staring back without emotion. Then, she began to spoke, her voice rough and haggard like her face, "You are destined for evil, for infamy. You will be the destroyer of life, you will murder those you love, and they will murder you. Passion will pervert you-" by this point, the poor child was terrified out of his wits. His emotions had been restored, and his eyes were streaming with tears.

I promptly wrenched him from the hag's arms, comforting him to the total exclusion of the witch. He clung to me with touching ferocity, sobbing into my breast. I left him outside (with many re-assurances) before re-entering the room to inform her I will never let the child within touching distance of her again. To my intense surprise, the room was empty – the witch had vanished.

The sky had darkened by the time Jareth and I successfully navigated our way back to the hub of the castle, and I was just in time to deliver a tired and pensive little boy to his dinner. When he returned to me, he was still a wreck. He chewed on his fingernails something terrible, and I did not have the heart to correct him. Instead I held him in my arms, rocking him as best I was able (for he is very nearly as tall as me) and murmuring words of comfort. I rubbished the harpy's claims, exposing them as nonsense. "You will be a good boy, won't you?" He nodded furiously, sniffing prominently. "Then you have nothing to fear. As long as you love those who love you, and care for them to the best of your ability, you will be happy."

It was difficult to convince him to go sleep separate from me, but succeeded after deploying many promises and reassurances. Strangely, I myself had trouble reaching sleep, a rarity for me. I ended up reading for a while, before turning out my lamp at a half past eleven.

_**6th Jansplur**_

The night was calmer that I anticipated. Jareth did indeed wake up during the night, but did so very quietly and his only motive was to creep into bed with me. He curled up tight besides me, and seemed touchingly content in my presence.

Jareth returned from breakfast in excitable spirits, bursting to inform me of his news. According to him, a rich man from a faraway land was to choose one of his sisters as a bride. I asked him if they had any choice in the matter, to which he looked at me oddly, stating "Of course not! They're only _girls_. Silly Nurse." He ran away in the direction of the throne room before I could draw his attention to the equality between the sexes, leaving me in a state of mild despair.

Her majesty was tearful during our daily visit, and was surrounded by her eldest daughters: Olga, Tatyana, Maria, Alexandra, Alyss and Anastasia. She took turns to embrace each one, wailing extravagantly and soaking their shoulders with her tears. They all looked very bored, and there was no indication that any love was lost between mother and daughters. All the girls seem resigned to the inevitability of their fate, except for Anastasia who announced "I don't have to get married, do I, mother? Especially not to cousin Titus, he's so old and ugly. And he farts-"

Maria and Alyss burst into the giggles. The other sisters looked utterly amused, and the Queen horrified. "Anastasia!" She exclaimed, her face having turned a brilliant red.

Jareth greatly appreciated this change in topic from love, marriage and loss to bodily functions, squealing with delight before rolling around on the floor laughing. Alexandra – who had been attempting to mother him throughout the meeting, namely by tying blue ribbons in his hair – looked deeply disappointed, and watched grimly as he congratulated Anastasia for "Being funny."

I received a letter from Clarity at lunch-time, it was somewhat tattered and had one large rip across the middle (the Goblin post is truly despicable!). Her spelling is greatly improved, I include her errors so I will remember who few they are in number now!

_Derest sister!_

_Thank ye greatly four yer genrous deliverance of yer message. It is supremely nice of yer to writ so soon. I will tell ye of hom as you arsked before making commentary on yer writins. We are all wether is biter yet berable. Fater is a tad better, and Constanty and Solemity are well improved in their behavour than whence you left us. Constance is enquiring to taking a posion as you ave and mak her own way in the wurld. All ere miss you greatly, yer quick brain, yer sensble nature, yer strong and grate corage. Even Clarity cannot induce the liitle uns with the awe ye did!_

_As for yer position, I am rightly pleesed that ye have setlled well. Your charge sounds like a rigth little rogue despite his staton, but if any can tame im, ye can deer Simplicity!_

_All send there deepest loove._

_Clarity._

Dear Clarity! How I miss her happy disposition, and her desire for improvement! Hopefully I will be able to visit them before long.

The suitor, Titus himself, is apparently already on his way and will be arriving in the next few days. I have been told a ball is being arranged for the visitor, a lavish event of great glory and excess. I look forward to it immensely, for no such indulgence would even be imagined back home. I succumbed to sleep soon after the little one reached his own rest, at a quarter to ten.

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**A/N: More stealing off Shakespeare for names here. The Goblin King's (possible) true name is Leontes, the name of the King in **_**The Winter's Tale**_**, and cousin Titus's name comes from **_**Titus Andronicus.**_

**This chapter was completely re-written as of 11/02/10.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**7th Jansplur**_

Today was a fearful experience, Jareth very nearly managed to escape!

The day started as normal, with Jareth complaining about being awoken at a hellish hour (in reality, half past nine) and refusing to eat his gruel (he catapulted the bowl to the other end of the room. V. naughty). His mother had an attack of the vapours while we were present, weeping continuously and bemoaning her daughter's fates. At one point she attempted to name them all, faltering when she reached Tatyana's name. Upon finding herself unable to say it (due to ignorance or emotion, I know not), she burst into a fresh flood of tears. I, of course, remained silent. What else is a servant supposed to do in such a scenario? Her frequent displays of emotion are disconcerting, I can't help but wish she would exhibit more control.

Jareth's disappeared during his riding lesson. He became distant just as it began, avoiding me in favour of his pony and mumbling in response to my questions. When Hoggle and I were speaking (he took intense interest in Mama's necklace, asking about its origins), Jareth kicked his heels into his pony's sides and galloped off into the pasture at unprecedented speed. His pace was shocking, and my first sight of him was of his small body bouncing up and down on the horses back – he was barely kept in place by his grip on the bridle. With a shriek, I started pursuing him with Hoggle at my side, but he was too fast for us to reach on foot. The stables were empty except for the King's prized mount, Diablo. The stallion is a fearsome beast, huge, the colour of the deepest shadow, and possessed of a temper to rival that of his master. Hoggle was tormented by thoughts of either being bogged for losing the King's son or flogged for mounting his horse, cursing loudly to that effect. Eventually he clambered onto Diablo. Just before he dug his heels into the creature's sides, I attempted to climb on behind him.

"What are you doing, yer madwoman?" He cried, his eyes darting between me and the rapidly diminishing figure of Jareth in the distance.

"Jareth is my charge. I will be with you when he is recued."

With a frustrated grunt, Hoggle reached down a hand and pulled me onto the horse's back. When my arms were safely set around his waist, he dug his heels into the horses' sides and started the pursuit.

We have no horses at home, for the simple reason that they ludicrously big. I have no experience of riding atop one at even the most sedate of speeds, so as soon as Diablo reared into the air and started streaking in Jareth's direction I screamed like a banshee. The speed was relentless, and I screamed and screamed until my throat was raw. The wind was fearsomely loud, driving past us at a pace that rendered any sounds Hoggle and I were capable of making inaudible. My hair was whipped out of its neat bun, and I gripped Hoggle with all my strength, pressing my head into the back of his shirt and keeping my eyes clenched shut.

The ground was covered quickly, and the few brief glances I dared to take of the view ahead showed that the distance between us and Jareth was rapidly closing. He turned his head back and saw us, attempting to make his pony run faster in reaction. His efforts were to no avail; Diablo was at least three times the size of Jareth's steed and covered the ground six times as fast. We eventually over shot Jareth by some distance, and Hoggle had to pull mightily at the reigns to steer the creature around. When Diablo was reduced to a placid trot, I leaped off his back and ran to Jareth. The child had abandoned his pony, and was huddled in the middle of the grass, sobbing into his knees. He constituted a forlorn little figure.

When he saw me, he crawled into my arms, his tears receding slightly. I picked him up (quite an impressive feat, I must say) and carried back to his pony, who had wandered a few feet away to graze. I said nothing, firm in the belief that scolding could wait until we were safely back at the Castle. My faith in silence was spoilt utterly when Hoggle came marching towards us, shouting at the boy "What did you think you were doing? Yer little fool!" Jareth's face twisted into an angry scowl, and I had to clap my hand over his mouth to prevent an argument.

"Quiet, Hoggle. The boy will be punished when we return home, rest assured of that."

Although he grunted in disapproval, Hoggle let the matter alone. He mounted Diablo once more, riding him back the stables with haste lest the King find his mount missing from its stall. Meanwhile, I helped Jareth onto his pony and began to lead both back the stable-yard. Jareth complained in a feeble voice that he thought it an indignity to be led back to the Castle by his nurse, but I quieted him by reminding him that he had far worse things to fear than shame.

When we returned to the castle, Hoggle had long since covered all traces of our escapade. The foam that had bubbled at Diablo's mouth had been cleared, his sweaty coat was clean and his mouth had been stuffed with sugar. Hoggle –looking absolutely shattered, I must say - glared at the child, but said nothing.

At the prospect of re-entering the castle, Jareth descended into a frenzy. He crumbled onto his knees and pleaded with me not to take him in, rambling about monsters, spectres and his Grandmother. The witch. I reassured him his fears were unfounded as best as I was able, weaving some untruths (I told him his Grandmother had died. He looked dubious initially, but I managed to convince him I was speaking the truth). I do not know if his fears were exaggerated for my benefit, but his pleas had an element of sincerity that made them difficult to deny.

Once convinced his Grandmother had departed from the world of the living, he looked immensely relieved and embraced me fully, nearly knocked all the air out of me! He is a sweet child in reality, his arrogance and leanings towards anarchy are merely masks for his fears. Just prior to our re-entering the castle (around an hour late for his lessons, I must add!) I remembered something of the utmost importance. I looked the child straight in the eyes, and made him swear not to mention his grandmother's death to a single soul, lest he upset them. He argued a little ("why should Grandmama's dying be bad?") but eventually agreed, on pain of the return of the Monstro Blatherguts monster.

The rest of the evening ran smoothly, although when the Queen returned Jareth to me after dinner she commented on his sleepiness; apparently, he felt asleep in the middle of the first course, his face happily being pillowed by several slices of bread. I hastily promised to put him to bed quickly, with the minimum of fuss. I was true to my word, and did not even read the child a story. I figured that could constitute the punishment I had promised Hoggle I would deliver. I lack the heart to reprimand him too severely; his fears are only the products of his surroundings, they are not due to any innate evil in the child himself. Bless him, he looked so content as he slept – a true angel.

Snubbed candle out at ten.

_**8th Jansplur**_

Today the preparations for the ball fully began. I am informed her majesty spent most of yesterday sending invites and telegrams requesting the services of caterers and performers, through Goblin emissaries, who, through experience, I could inform her are wholly unreliable, grubby rogues. The caterers' arrival was a blessing, for once eating here was a delight. The food was filling and even had a pleasant taste, neither of which can be said for the dross I have had the misfortune of consuming here previously. The ballroom is also being prepared, and an army of servants have spent the day draping it with satin hangings and tying ribbons to everything they can reach; the collective effect is very ethereal. Jareth is getting very excited at the prospect of spectacle, hopping about like a little rabbit and begging me to sneak him in! I laughed this little fancy off, informing him it was an adult affair and that little boys were rare sights at such grand functions. I have however promised him I may take him to watch from the south balcony (a little dilapidated ledge, disused and coated in years worth of dust) if he is good. I may regret my words, as today he behaved most admirably and I may end up having to fulfil my promise!

I insisted on observing during Jareth's lesson today. They tutors let me stay for half an hour only, insisting that females are distractions from the art of learning. I strongly doubt my presence made a distance either way, for Jareth was petulant but by no means unbearable throughout the lesson. He twitched and fidgeted in his seat and threw quills, ink bottles and parchment at his tutors while Lasander devoted his time in quiet contemplation of 'Kingliness for the Young Heir'. The older boy would occasionally glance up from its pages, but only ever to sigh at the antics of his youngest sibling. He has no patience for Jareth, which is saddening but understandable.

After being ejected from the schoolroom, I took it upon myself to locate Jareth's sisters and familiarize myself with them – until this point, I have had only the most minimal of contact with them. They were easy to find for their chambers are on the same corridor as Jareth's. Upon exploring their rooms, I was stuck by their rigid uniformity. There were three chambers together, all with mauve walls, three neatly made beds and a cluster of toys in a corner. The occupants of the rooms were decided by the girls' ages. The four eldest were Olga, Tatyana, Maria and Alexandra – their divergent personalities often resulted in hostility. The occupants of the second room were Anastasia, Alyss, Xenia and Nina – all are charming young girls, with jolly dispositions and endless enthusiasm. The final room contained the four youngest girls: Irina, Angelina, Marina and Valeriya – they spent most of my time with them squabbling over their dollies and games. Although, having said that, Marina and Valeriya did at one point politely request my presence at one of their tea parties. I attended along with several teddy bears, a gaggle of dolls and a toy duck. They were very proper little hostesses, bless their little hearts!

I passed most of my time with the eldest girls, namely because I found their conversation the most intriguing. Although it started with idle chatter (namely about the weather, and how horrid breakfast had been), and Maria and Alexandra's being excitable, the conversation took an interesting twist when Olga began to discuss the imminent arrival of their cousin Titus.

"Can you remember his last visit, Tatyana?"

"No." She replied, a surly thing she is.

"What of you two? Maria? Alexandra?" After a few seconds without reply, Olga darkened her tone, "Are either of you idlers listening to me?"

"Oh, you were addressing us, sister?" Maria replied, feigning innocence. "Now, let me think. Cousin Titus. Oh yes, the deformed one." She shuddered visibly.

"Not that we will refer to him as such elsewhere, of course." Olga mentioned, glancing very overtly at me.

I hurriedly replied. "Your conversation will never leave this room, Mistresses." I had no idea what the correct address was, so opted for something non-committal. Their true title is 'High Princess of the Goblin Kingdom' but I do not feel the need to resort to such formality in everyday conversation.

There were a few whispers about the mysteries of married life ("what do you do with a man like Titus? He's such a horrid _bore_") but for the most part the remainder of their conversation was thoroughly uninvolving. Still, it was pleasant to spend some time with the girls – they have proved to be far more distinct than I imagined.

I retrieved Jareth from his tutors after an hour and a half. They were fuming, ink splattered and thoroughly relieved to see the back of him. Indeed, they were positively charming towards me. I doubt I will ever again receive such rudeness from them as I did this morning, now they view me as a means of deliverance from a demon child! I loathe their hypocrisy; it only serves to remind me of my isolation here. Hoggle is hopelessly surly, the girls are either foolish or aloof and their mother is a vain, self pitying wretch. I feel genuine affection for Jareth – he is a sweet child, at heart – but can't help but wish for the intellectually stimulating company of suitable adults. Still, my situation cannot be helped and I will simply have to continue as best I can. I need to write to Clarity again to re-establish contact with those back home, though I will wait until after the ball so I can provide her with all the details her heart could possibly desire.

I read Jareth the story of Orpheus and Eurydice tonight. It is an ancient myth from a far distant land related to me by Grandfather long ago; I hope it will not trouble him, for with hindsight I can say it contains some material unsuitable for the more delicate of children (frequent mentions of hell, thread headed monsters, dead maidens etc). Tomorrow is the day of the ball, and I have a notion tomorrows entry herein will be of a most excessive length! Extinguished my candle at ten.

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**A/N: fully revised on 11/02/10. **

**The names of the girls are for the most part taken from members of the Russian aristocracy of the early part of the last century.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: language warning! I need to scrub my wretched mouth out with some form of skin decimating soap!**_

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_**9th Jansplur**_

We woke earlier than usual, for Jareth was so excited about the ball he could not stand to remain in bed for a second longer than was necessary (he woke at the crack of dawn I believe, such was his impatience). Jareth is somewhat singularly minded, and his conversation made it clear to be that he viewed the ball as an event that existed solely for his merriment. I had been given orders about how to dress him for the occasion, and was obliged to dress him in a miniature 'sailor's suit'. I believe it is a mode of dress copied from some human fashion or another, for it is like nothing I have ever seen on Scrabble's good earth! It is pure white, with dark blue stripes around the collar and is topped off by a small, white cap. Despite its strangeness, I must confess it made him look rather endearing. To prevent the costume from looking utterly ridiculous, I tied his little mane of her back as tightly as I dared. The overall effect was charming, though_ I_ realized the foolishness of dressing such a boisterous child in white, of all things!

The normal timetable for Jareth was dispensed with for the day, and my sole explicit instruction was to 'restrain the child from mischief'. The day was most interesting; for a start, the whole castle was transformed beyond recognition. The throne room had been cleared of straw and muck, and was draped with rich, velvet hangings. There were even a few newly dusted portraits adorning the walls, which lent the place an air of unconvincing civility. Jareth insisted on sitting on my Lap during the ceremony in the late morning where all the visitors greeted the King, it was a thoroughly painful experience due to his size. Little Valeriya was stood next to us, and Jareth tormented the poor girl throughout the morning, pulling her hair and whispering wicked names to disturb her. She started to sob quietly, and I had to quickly reprimand the situation by scolding Jareth and soothing his sister.

The visitors to the Kingdom were diverse of race and plentiful in number. Among others, the King greeted emissaries from the Elfin Kingdoms, the Troll Kingdoms and the Giant Kingdoms (their ambassador was truly terrifying!). A delegate from the Dwarf Kingdom was also in attendance, and he even saw it fit to comment on my presence (he was evidently pleased to see one of his own race represented in his Majesty's entourage)! I blushed something dreadful! All of the guests were polite to varying degrees, and most were hopelessly stiff and dry. Jareth found the whole experience a dreadful bore, and during one of the speeches by a delegate from one of the more isolated Elfin Kingdoms Jareth muttered "Get on with it, sticky ears". I had to exercise great control to keep my own mouth from tweaking into a smile!

The final visitor to be introduced was Titus, the suitor himself. He is by no means deformed, as the girls' gossip indicated. Instead he was rather dashing. His long, dark hair was tied back with a flamboyantly coloured ribbon, and his facial features were neat and beautifully proportioned. I took the moment of his introduction as an opportunity to glance at the girls. They had been dressed prettily for the occasion, wearing satin gowns of bold colouring. Olga's was scarlet, Tatyana's yellow, Maria's blue, Alyss's green, Alexandra's mauve and Anastasia's pink. Their hair was piled high atop their heads, and Anastasia kept on rubbing her neck, the strain clearly paining her. Olga was pre-occupied by a study of her nails, Tatyana was twisting a strand of her hair around a finger and Maria and Alyss were both gaping at him like thirsty dogs. Alexandra looked confused by the man, as if still unprepared for life beyond the nursery, and Anastasia looked curiously angry. She glared at him like a madwoman, her eyes glinting with a fury that perplexed me. What possible reason could there be for her hatred? I couldn't help but wish I had passed more time with her on the previous day.

Jareth grew steadily more intolerable as the introduction ceremony wore on, writhing in my arms and only paying attention to Titus so he could comment "He looks like a fop!"

Following the ceremony, I returned Jareth to his nursery. I had been asked to help the girls with the preparation for the ball, and was reassured some Goblins would be dispatched to watch over my charge. Although doubtful of their capacity top 'care' for the child, I had no choice in the matter and headed speedily towards the girls' chambers.

The first thing I heard from their rooms was shrieks and whines of varying volumes and tones. When I burst in to discover what kind of torture was being inflicted upon them, I was shocked to see that they were merely being dressed for the evening! Alexandra and Anastasia were being tied into corsets for what I could only assume was the first time, going by the volume of their wails. Olga and Tatyana were pulling the strings, and were being mighty ruthless about it, pulling so harshly as to make the strings bite into their sisters' flesh. I shouted for them to stop, smacking Olga and Tatyana's hands away from their sisters' gowns. "What in the world did you think you were doing!" I shouted. "Do you wish to hurt them?"

Olga and Tatyana glared at me, and Olga commented. "Father likes our waists to be small, manageable. They will suffer pain more intense if they are not dressed as they are supposed to be."

Her answer bewildered me. In my limited experience of the family, the King had not even had eye contact with his daughters, let alone conversations. "Your father speaks with you?"

"Of course." Tatyana replied. "It is simply that father conducts his conversations with us away from the servants."

Their comments disturbed me greatly, for their logic made no sense. Why should a father desire that his daughters shoulder suffer simply for the sake of tiny waists? Surely no man could be so proud?

Alexandra looked frightened, and simply watched the confrontation with her fingernails hovering close to her mouth. Anastasia meanwhile was wretchedly trying to pull the strings loose. She darted her head around to glare at her sisters. "You hurt me! How dare you hurt me! How dare you!" Suddenly, all our attention was focuses on the girl. Her corset was nearly hanging off her chest, held in place by a few stubborn strings. Her chest was heaving mightily, and her face was red and stained with tears. She rushed towards Olga, and beating pummelling her chest. "You bitch! You bitch!"

I gasped in horror, and even the stoical Olga flinched, clearly shocked. Only Tatyana was impassive, simply staring at her distraught sister as if she were a portrait or a statue. Olga managed an apology, but Anastasia was deaf to it. Instead she burst into tears, throwing herself down upon her bed and sobbing into her pillow. I rushed to her, and tried to comfort her only to be pushed forcefully away. "Go away! Go away!"

I think you should leave, Olga told me, speaking very quietly.

I nodded quickly, asking "You will be able to prepare yourselves for the ball?"

"Yes. We'll be fine."

I left the room.

I returned to Jareth with haste, confused and disturbed by the incident and wishing only to forget it. He had – not to my surprise – abandoned his playroom and started wreaking havoc in the kitchens (Scrabble knows how he found his way there in the first place). By the time I discovered him, he was gleefully upsetting pots and pans from the many stoves that were lit in the kitchen, heedless of the harm he was causing. I put a swift stop to his mischief, boxing his ears and going to pains to explain the reason for his punishment. I could barely make myself heard over his howls, the little devil!

I came to regret the harshness of my chosen punishment, for he sniffled and whimpered for hours after the incident. Despite being by no means the most compassionate of souls, I decided to take him to the forgotten balcony I had tempted him with promises of the day before. I should have probably stuck to my convictions, but his joy at being allowed to observe the decorated was a fine recompense.

Despite the strangeness of the day, I could not help but feel a girlish excitement as I held Jareth on my lap and spied on the proceedings below just as he did. The balcony was heavily draped to disguise its state of disrepair, so I was obliged to cut a long slit down the fabric with my mending scissors to provide us both with a good view of the room. For a long while, we watched as servants, Goblins, Elves (pah!) and Trolls (double pah!) alike scurried from corner to corner, making negligible alterations to endless aspects of the scenery. By the time the King and Queen entered (beginning the long procession of noble-folk into the room) the place was literally ablaze with colours. Carpets and cushions of brilliant shades had been arranged carefully over the floor, lending the place an air of vibrant, attractive chaos.

Jareth squealed in delight whenever one of his family members entered, and I was forced to clap my hand over his mouth to restrain him. I watched as the room was gradually filled, paying especial attention to the girls. All traces of their earlier disagreements had vanished, and all of them were beautifully attired in splendid gowns of satin and lace. All of them, except for Tatiana, smiled with varying degrees of sincerity. Anastasia's smile was the least convincing, and I could easily perceive tension in her. She fiddled with her hands something terrible, and spent a great deal of time staring at her lap. Alexandra and Maria, by way of contrast, were totally relaxed and danced happily with every male who offered them their hand, smiling from genuine pleasure. You would never guess Alexandra had been crying. Olga and Tatiana, meanwhile, watched the proceedings dispassionately. Olga, on account of her occasional strained smiles, was asked to dance a few times, but Tatiana was left entirely alone. It appears she has a reputation that undermines the power of her beauty.

The Royal couple themselves were a site of intense activity, and I could barely make them out for most of the evening because of the people that crowded them. Titus sat besides the King for most of the night, consuming wine and enjoying what appeared to be an most lively conversation. The Queen displayed great anxiety, her eyes darted repeatedly around the room and, like Anastasia, she persistently meddled with her hands. She looked more beautiful than was usual, with her (for once) carefully applied make-up restoring some of the charms of youth she must have possessed as a young girl. Her skin was a snowy white, her remarkable blue eyes large and strangely arresting. It was easy to see why the King had desired her.

The dancing wore on, and none of the people below us showed any sign of tiring. Indeed, the laughter grew in volume, the dances intensified in speed and urgency. The Elfin musicians struggled to play their instruments swiftly enough to accommodate the rhythm, and I could almost see the sweat forming on their brows. Jareth was beginning to doze despite the row, and I was about to leave with him when I noticed that Titus had stood up. The King smiled as he watched his nephew advance snake-like through the crowds, and I was both disturbed and repelled by the mischief in his expression. He looked like a man making ready to see all his plans come to fruition.

Titus moved in the direction of the girls, and it quickly became clear to me that he had made his choice. Olga, Tatiana and Anastasia were sat together in silence among some cushions while their sisters danced amidst the throng, and I pressed my eye close to the fabric to observe events as closely as possible. I watched as he greeted each girl in turn, bowing in a little as he addressed them. He spoke to Anastasia last of all, and sat beside her. The girl's face became steadily more distressed as he spoke to her, and she was on the verge of standing up when he seized her hand. Titus lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. Anastasia was as still as marble, and looked upon him with horror. My eyes darted to the royal couple. The King laughed as a voluptuous young girl stroked his cheek and feathered kisses on his neck, and the Queen's eyes were fixed upon her daughter. She remained motionless, entirely possessed by the object of her gaze. When I followed the Queen's gaze, it was to see Titus slipping a ring onto Anastasia's finger. The girl was crying.

Unable to bear the sight of such torment any longer, I rose, heaving Jareth into my arms and carrying him with some difficulty to his room. I helped him guide his limbs into his nightclothes, and put him to bed. I did not tell him a story, and he did not ask for one. I am glad – what kind of story could I possibly tell him now, after having witnessed such things as I did this night?

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**A/N: major changes here. This chapter was almost completely re-written, and I have probably made myself some serious work by making the changes so dramatic. Oh well, I guess you can just call me a glutton for punishment. Re-write completed on 20/02/10.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**9th Janplur**_

After the eventful nature of yesterday I will try to condense this passage as much as possible. I woke at the regular time despite a bad night, and was pleased to find that Jareth made no mention of my violence towards him. There are no bruises, thank Scrabble, and I believe it will be easy to forget the event now it has passed.

When I encountered one of the servants in the hallway while taking Jareth to the Throne Room, I enquired as to the state of the guests only to be told they have all departed. Sure enough, it was true. The stables are empty, the guest rooms vacant and the ballroom littered with scraps of food and every other kind of mess you can imagine. What strange people these high born folk are, scarcely staying after the main event has passed!

During Jareth's usual frolicking with his Goblin companions (today they were bullying a very small Goblin named Scuttle. I had to rescue the poor creature from torment before he was killed), I was shocked to see the King enter the room with the harlot he acquired at the ball the previous night! He ignored both me and his little son completely. Jareth went quiet when he noticed his father's presence, and watched coldly as he pulled the girl onto his lap and kissed her passionately. I removed us both from the room before Jareth could grow anymore disturbed by the scene. Loathsome hussy!

The Queen denied Jareth his time with her, instead passing the time with Anastasia. The events of the previous night are shrouded in mystery, and I only know what I do thanks to the Castle gossips. Titus has vacated the castle along with the rest of the nobles, and is assumed to be making ready to be married in the summer (the traditional season for weddings). When bringing Jareth to luncheon, I saw Anastasia leaving her mother's room, her face crimson and her mouth twisted into a scowl. She jostled past me heedlessly, ignoring my instinctive cry of indignation. I feel immense pity for her, but do wish she would not take out her anger on those who have done nothing but display pity and concern.

Spoke with Hoggle during Jareth's riding lesson (it ran smoothly. Jareth was v. good and somewhat placid, even). Hoggle unburdened himself upon me liberally, issuing complaint after complaint about the Lord and Ladies with all their fancy ways and arrogance. He is truly like an old woman!

Jareth was v. strange after his lesson, very secretive and perpetually smirking. He must be up to some kind of mischief (I contemplated), he can never contain himself when he is plotting something. In contrast, Lasander was just as ill-tempered as his father is known to be today; how he scowled, snapped and stomped his foot at Jareth's little antics! Anyone would think the child had committed some mortal crime, going by the force of Lasander's rage.

The rest of the day passed relatively peacefully until I took it to my head to bath the child. While speaking with Cook after dinner, she mentioned that she has not been ordered to boil any water for the little one's bath in a month (I prompted ordered her to heat a cauldron, which she did only after much grumbling)! There has always been a distinct sense of grubbiness about his person, more the air of an urchin child than a prince. It was only when I attempted to bath him that I understood why the matter has been postponed so frequently. What a fuss he made! At first I tried to lure him to the bathing chamber by promising him a trip to the market tomorrow, an offer he readily agreed to. Unfortunately, I neglected to mention the purpose of our visit to the chamber and when he saw that the stone bath was full of steaming water he cried out in dismay and bolted for the door! He made it half way along the corridor before I caught him, dragging him back as he hollered and kicked. When I started attempting to undress him, he shrieked and burst out of my arms. He did not head for the door, instead he targeted the tub, grabbing it by the edge and somehow managing to overturn it! Water rapidly spread over the entire floor, and I turned crimson from fury. Jareth was giggling at me from a corner, and I charged at him in anger only to slip and fall flat on my backside! How he laughed, and how I raged!

It needs not to be said whether he had a bath or not (his neck is still positively filthy), and I will end this entry by mentioning that the little horror will most certainly not be accompanying me to the market tomorrow.

_**10th Jansplur**_

Today was market day, and it was such a tiring affair! I requested permission from the Queen to visit the market in the morning, and she gave me her permission without a second's thought. She was very much looking forward to having a jolly time with Jareth to make-up for her recent neglect of him, and I feel to blot out Anastasia's melancholy (the girl is now utterly depressed, and is refusing to meet with either her mother or her father – she does not even attend dinner!) Jareth looked incredibly smug as I left him with his mother, and I was soon to realize why.

I had prepared myself amply, pulling on my shawl and taking a few coins with me to spend. I left just before the Royal Family were due to take luncheon, and Jareth appeared as if out of nowhere just before I left the castle to wish me goodbye. He squirmed a little when I expressed my delight and embraced him, squirming something terrible, but he seemed to return my affection. He mumbled a desire to come with me, at which point I laughed and reminded him of his naughtiness. He smiled as I left him, looking like the little devil he is.

I had just passed out of the Castle courtyard (the first time I have left the compound for nine days!) and was approaching the stalls when I felt something tug at my shawl! I turned around, and lo and behold Jareth was stood behind me, grinning. I immediately demanded that he explain himself, greatly disconcerted by his sudden appearance. He took great delight in informing me that his teachers had so despaired of his behaviour they had simply taken him to the library and left him there to do as he pleased, with only vague instructions to 'learn'. Of course he did the opposite, and relished telling me how he shredded dozens of sappy romances before coming across a book that told of magic. Apparently it had a golden clasp and a cover that was studded with gems, and he opened in a state of excitement and wonder. He spent an hour poring over its contents, and despite his limited understanding of language even managed to learn some of the spells it contained (Scrabble only knows how!) He specified, telling me how he had attained some power over time and even had the ability to appear and disappear as he pleased (all magical children have powers to some degree, it is just that very few know how to control them). "For I am of magical blood, Nurse," he said, sounding insufferably proud and solemn, "And I can do _whatever_ I wish." He demonstrated, vanishing only to re-appear again a few paces away within a second. I gasped in wonder, and tried to make him understand the danger entangled with the powers he now owned. He sighed like an old man, saying "Oh, don't fear. I will look around the market with you, then return to lunch when we have finished." I must have looked utterly dumbfounded, for he continued. "I can do it. I can! I can!" He stamped his foot to punctuate his cries, and I shushed him when I noticed we were getting looks from the creatures browsing the stalls.

I reluctantly agreed to allow him to accompany me, and was hardly able to think of anything else but my disobedience as we looked at the first few stalls. Those sellers that occupied the outermost edges of the market were of low quality, some were ladling 'Delicious Brown Slime' into the grubby hands of Goblins, and some of the more shady characters promised gold in exchange for limbs. I drew Jareth past such things with haste, fearing for his young mind (which must be so warped already, thanks to that father of his!)

The first stall of interest we came across sold books, generally dusty old things with leather covers. Seemingly inspired since the discovery of his Magic Book, Jareth charged straight for it and reached out a hand to stroke the binding. He yelped when he was struck by a stick, and I quickly pulled him away. An old man hobbled out of a tent that had been erected just behind the stall, glaring at us and shouting, "Keep those hands off! Bloody children! Nosy little sods. If I had my way they'd all be drowned at birth! Like cats!"

"How dare you strike me!" Jareth cried, his face flaming red. "I am-"

I clapped my hand over his mouth before it was too late, leading him away and apologizing. "Please forgive him sir, we shall not bother you again."

"You're feggin' right you won't!" He waved his stick in the air, and I led Jareth away in haste.

"Why did you stop me!" He complained as soon as we were out of range.

"You are a royal, and you are here without royal permission. You would have us both flogged, would you child?"

He reluctantly grasped my reasoning, and his cries of indignation abated.

The next stall we encountered was far more jolly and reputable; I especially was well pleased because they sold exactly what I had been seeking: parchment and quills. This stall was run by a lovely, wispy, lady who appeared to consist of smoke. She displayed significant interest in Jareth, who was in turn captivated by her beauty and her slight, merry laugh. She bent low to whisper something to him as I fumbled around in my bag for my purse. After she had spoken he returned to my side, squeezing my hand and keeping (relatively) close for the rest of our adventure.

The crowd was marked by great diversity, and Jareth often exclaimed when he saw a creature that was new to him. Most of the 'customers' were penniless Goblins looking for things to steal, but there were also Boggarts, Gnomes, Pixies and I think even a Vampire or two (it was difficult to tell, for they were hiding beneath heavy cloaks)! There was one particularly embarrassing incident when Jareth saw a somewhat unfortunate looking Gnome and cried out "Look nurse! What an ugly little man!" We received such a glare! The child badly needs to learn some courtesy.

We next came across a brightly coloured tent, and my attention was captured by the huge line emerging from the entrance. Dozens of creatures waited with varying degrees of patience, some making idle conversation, some waiting in silence and others tormenting whoever happened to be closest to them. I looked up, searching for a banner. I soon saw the following emblazoned in red lettering upon a piece of white cloth:

**SEE THEE GRATE WUNDERS OF THE WISE MANE! HEER YOOR FOURTOONS, HAV SPELS CAST, EXPERENCE THE MARVALS OF THE MARVILOOSE WISE MAN**

Such atrocious spelling, I couldn't help but tut as I read it. It is no wonder Jareth is so backward with such influences embedded in his native culture. While I was distracted, Jareth slipped away from me into the crowd. I realized almost instantly, and pushed my way through the line as I searched for him, unable to call his name for the row. Thanks to Scrabble, I just managed to glimpse his feet before they disappeared into the Wise Man's tent. I followed, slipping under the fabric myself as carefully as I could. Jareth was stood immediately in front of The Wise Man himself, gazing upon him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. The poor old thing looked utterly bewildered, a large, foul-smelling pipe wobbled treacherously in his mouth as he cried out "A child? What is this? WHO BROUGHT THIS HERE?!" He struck his fist against the arm of his wooden chair emphatically, and I darted forward to retrieve Jareth from his sight. As I did so, I heard a shrill cry of "No payment! No payment!" coming from above, I looked up as I backed away with Jareth and saw that the exclamation was being emitted by a strange, bird like creature that appeared to be sprouting from the old man's head. Aware of the danger of our situation, I quickly ceased my gawping and removed us both from the tent without a word. I scolded Jareth of course, but I strongly doubt my reprimands will alter his behaviour. He is set in his ways, mischief will always be with him.

Despite it generally being a merry and lively place, some of sights were ones I would have preferred Jareth not to see. Many of the stalls dealt in the Dark Arts, a despicable field of magic that was advertised by means of polished human skulls, glittering amulets and bubbling vats of potions. Jareth was irresistibly drawn to these sorts of establishments, and I had to verily carry him away from them on several occasions, his interest was so immense. I often resorted to distracting him with the extortionately priced knick-knack stalls, buying him trifles such as coloured stones and little story books to try and take his mind away from wicked things. I must have spent have my first pay-packet on the little devil, that is the truest measure of my foolishness! Mother always told me I heard a bleeding heart, and it is fair to say that it is now leaking blood somewhat excessively.

However, the worst attraction of all was the Slave Market. We have no such things back home, and it was horrifying to see living souls brought like meat. Most of those available for sale were Goblins, drunken and loutish, who could be brought for a few pennies each. I caught a gossip saying that most of them willingly exchanged themselves for a pint of ale, so if that is truly they do not deserve an ounce of pity. There were however some creatures more deserving of sympathy, some of whom I have no idea how they could have entered such a pitiful situation. There were several girls, several Elfin and one human. They were all alarmingly silent and unsettling young. Their faces had no beauty in them, but it was clear from the youthful quality of their skin and their hair that they were no more than adolescents. They, of course, received many bids for men are loathsome, lusty devils. Scrabble have mercy upon their souls!

I originally only stopped because I was struck by the strangeness of such an event, and was never going to stay long. However, my departure was hastened by an encounter. I was touched on the shoulder, and turned around rapidly. A tall, dark haired man with a despicable smile gazed at me, his eyes occasionally drifting to Jareth. He addressed me as follows, "Is he yours? I must say, he is a pretty child." He exposed his teeth, and I responded by grabbing Jareth's hand and hastening away. He questioned me nosily about our sudden departure when he realized we would be doing no more shopping, and I simply told him to hush. I do not know if I wish to go the market again; it is full of fiends.

Just before entering the Castle compound, Jareth bid me goodbye and vanished, promising that he would see me after dinner. When the Queen returned him to me in the evening, smiling broadly and viewing her little boy with great affection, I was overwhelmed by relief. Jareth was merely proud for his achievement, and repeatedly winked at me, seemingly in need of confirmation of the success of his misdeeds. I denied him that pleasure by ignoring him, instead focusing on the Queen's prattle.

I did not read him a story at bed-time. After his antics in the last few days, he does not deserve one for a year.

* * *

**A/N: completely re-written as of 28/02/10.**


	7. Chapter 7

_11th Jansplur_

Such trouble from Anastasia today! She is totally immersed within herself, still totally refusing entry from any to her chamber. Her father went to her door to try and draw his daughter from her solitude, I heard his shouting, and her silence in return.

Jareth, however, exists in blissful unawareness of such strife. I would swear he cannot discern one sister from another, he never refers to them by name, and shows utter disrespect for them whenever he is brought into contact with them, just as they display utter contempt for him. Such a sad family, it seems to bother none but the mistress however, who has continually been suffering from the vapours and twisting her handkerchief into a succession of tiny knots. She received Jareth once more today, and clung to him something terrible, chiding him for fleeing from her company with the utmost gentleness and compassion dominating her tone. It seems to me he is the only thing dear to her she has left, her daughters have formed a strong union against and exertion of parental authority (as Anastasia's sisters are supporting her in her request for solitude, with Alexandra and Alyss giving up their beds and slumbering on the flagstone floor of their elder sisters room, in respect for her seclusion) and her husband has no time for her, they only sight each other to dine, both occupy separate beds.

Quested further with conversation with Hoggle, and was able to draw him from his sullen thoughfullness, opening converse with him on the subject of the Diamond mines littered about my home province. How his eyes shone at the reference! I remarked to him as to his excessive interest on the subject of something as insignificant as mere pretty gems, and he immediately championed their huge significance, their vast, all-encompassing beauty, their remarkable value. He continued like this for sometime, boring me somewhat. I detest how he has no interest in life, reality, relations, if it were not for his near encyclopaedic knowledge of horses and jewels, he would be devoid of all thought, would, I dare to say, cease to hold any worthwhile existence. I sometimes wish he would warrant such devout attention to_ me_.

Jareth's education is proceeding excellently, most rapidly even. He is a sharp child, though maintaining his attention and dedication is a difficulty. His mastering the incantation in Lasander's book is proof of his capacity for learning. I believe it would be true to say that these Fae's are far speedier in their learning than most normal folk, or Jareth himself at the very least, though I believe it would be a stretch to say the child is brilliant, as Lasander is a true genius, with his level of knowledge far surpassing any I have ever known elsewhere. Today, we read the _Queen of Snow_ together, a story contained in a volume of tales I was able to purchase at the market place after much trouble. It is really a most wonderful yarn, it tells of a cold, distant Queen, who stole the playmate of little Gerda one winter, and the tale generally tells of Gerda's long and hazardous quest to reclaim her companion, whom she loves as a brother. A most empowering tale. He was able to read nearly all of the words from his own capacity, though he became frustrated at being unable to comprehend some of the more complicated words lining the page, only being subdued when I carefully explained the meaning of each.

Jareth is being careful not to over-use his new skill, as he has discovered it acts to reduce his boundless energy somewhat, and so he only committed a few slight hops - to disconcert me somewhat. The effect is has on the child is most pleasing, I should encourage it more often.

Snatched the time to write once more to Clarity, so much I have had to include in my letter! Of the ball, my pupil's progress, the various thrills and dangers of the strange, foreign, market-place. I was able to finish it quickly, in what I hope to be a smooth, suitably entertaining narrative. I am also parcelling father's stockings, which I completed during Jareth's spell with his mother. I believe they are well knitted, hopefully suitably strong and sturdy to hold the chill at bay. I do hope he and the others are keeping well, and I really must remember to request permission for leave, as I do so wish to sight their dear faces once more. All twenty-eight of them.

Read Jareth yet another tale tonight, the Goldilocks and the Three Bears, somewhat simplistic, though Jareth appeared to enjoy it. Lights out at a quarter to ten.

_12th Jansplur_

A day of terror. I am considering leaving, can no longer be sure in my own safety. I will remain for a while yet, for the sole purpose of the child's well being. All ordinary activities were forgotten once more, though this time not for a planned, or orchestrated purpose – but because Anastasia has went missing.

I was woken earlier than usual, to find the Queen's desperate, bleary eyed face gazing at me intently. She tearfully informed me she had been to visit Anastasia before her father, just after dawn, as she was in possession of a hidden key that she would use to gain entry to her chamber (a key the existence of she has not informed her husband of – it requires no stretch of thought to know why.) And upon gaining entry, she found the room empty, the blankets absent from the beds, and all personal effects and clothing taken. Anastasia has ran away.

She told me she came to me as she could tell no other, her daughters would be of no use, her husband descend into a fit of ineffectual fury. There was so little I could do, just speak reason, tell her the girl would be afraid, and she would return. Though, knowing Anastasia's strength of mind and passion, I could not trust my tongue to speak truth. We did not want to wake Jareth, who slept peacefully, and so retreated to the Queen's boudoir. She began rapidly applying make–up, and dressed quickly, too quickly in fact, she got one of the sleeves twisted, and she required me to aid her somewhat. I do not think she would of cared however, her mind now is solely fixated on her missing daughter, and what awaits her beyond the walls of the Goblin city. She told me, the tears fast falling, of the terrors that lurked within the Labyrinth, of the monsters, the poisoned lakes, the endless inescapable corridors. I tried to divert her attention from the overwhelming possibilities, spoke of anything, total nonsense, Jareth's progress, the attractive fashion of her dress, but she ignored such petty comments, and began considering what she must do.

She decided on the only true option available – inform the King, await his response to the lamentable situation. Stand strong. She was understandably terror stricken at the prospect, kept glancing fearfully toward the door as if he stood poised in the shadows, and begged me to accompany her, she said she could not face him alone. So we took to the master' study, he wakes early, and spends the morning immersed in politics, meaningless squabbles and strifes. He is never disturbed, unless he wishes it, and the mistress had to close her eyes to summon the courage to knock at the tall, iron studded door.

No answer came, and we stood in the threshold for ten minutes before the door opened, with the aid of no earthly motion. He was sat at his desk, did not meet our eyes, sat gaze locked intently on his papers, shuffling them, occasionally scribbling frantically in the borders. Half an hour more he kept us stood before him, before he spoke. How nervous I was, how my legs quaked, I could hardly anticipate the extent of his potential fury. I remember what he said so well, it is frightening, as if he is stood here now dictating the words as I will write them.

"Do not tell me why you are here wife. I know." He spoke so calmly. So collected, as if he had sat for hours perfecting the tone and the intonation, his words only scared the mistress more, and she said nothing in response, he continued, "do you think me a fool? This is my kingdom, I know all the happenings, I know of my wayward daughter, knew yesterday."

The Queen stared at him, overcome, she could hardly comprehend his cruelty, "yesterday? You knew yesterday? Why, why, why? Why didn't you tell me then, the worry, the fear do you not know how it feels?" I felt so useless, it was horrendous, as if I was an intruder, I had no place in that room.

"You feel too much, your life is an endless whirl of stupefying, ineffectual emotions woman. It is thankful for the world that you have no hand in politics, you would lead it to disaster, just as your daughter is so very, very lost and alone at this current moment."

"You know where she is? For pity's sake tell me! If you ever loved me, tell me!" He stayed silent, only giving a slight upturn of a smile, before rising from his desk to approach her, raising his hand over her shoulder to lean on the wall, to meet her eyes in an unavoidable gaze. So intimidating, I could literally see her quake with the fear beneath the folds of her muslin gown.

"Leave us dwarf." He spoke without looking on me, I knew not what to do, knew I risked everything by disobeying him, my position, my reputation, possibly even my life – but knew I risked more by not remaining loyal to the Queen. I stood still, saying nothing, not moving a step.

"I said leave, I will not tell thee again." He spoke through gritted teeth, oh how I recall the words!

I stood unmoving, could feel the fear rise within me, it took all I could muster not to flee from the room at lightening speed. But I remained. He sighed as if carrying out a troublesome task, and approached me, leaving his wife looking on with terror. He gripped hold of my shoulders and threw me against the wall, leaving me devoid of breath, my head aching and throbbing inconsolably.

I was hardly aware in my state, but the horror at seeing Jareth, face contorted with loathing, stood in the doorway, will remain with me for ever. He came running at his father, and began hitting him with his tiny fists, clawing at him, biting like an animal. His father warranted him little attention, not even reprimanding him, he just looked on with subtle interest as his wife screamed at her son to cease. Jareth was possessed of such outrage, but the passion and fury through which he channelled it made him little better than the father he so hated in his display.

After what seemed like endless hours of mayhem and shrieking, people stirring beyond the walls of the study at the din, the King stopped his son, lifted him up (with a surprising gentlenesses) and placed him on the desk, the child trapped on it's surface. Jareth had gone quiet, the loathing and wrath forgotten in a rush of overpowering fear. For it was fear for himself. The look on the master's face was bizarre, I could swear he looked _proud_ at the viciousness his cruelty had provoked, vaguely surprised, enlightened even, as if finally aware of the nature of the son he cares so little for.

"I will send the guards for my wanton, thankless daughter. She will return, and she shall be married. I care no longer for her feelings on the matter, her conduct has lost any notion of respect or pity from me. Spare me your tears, your wretched weakness, both of you. Leave me with my son." We dared not hesitate, and I could only chance a look at the child stood aloft the desk, I would of done anything to snatch him from the hands on the monster. And it is to my shame I did not.

The remains of the day was passed in morose gloominess, treading anxiously, softly, about the reaches of the study, and hearing little but the master's constant, distant voice, and his son's short, mumbled responses. Fear from me for Anastasia had been displaced by Jareth's entrapment, but her mother remained still ever anxious, watching from the wide window in the throne room for the vaguest sign of her daughter's return. We did little, neither me or the Queen ceasing our respective vigils to eat the foot proffered us from the quaking hands of the servants, I asked her if she did not worry for her son, but she said she knew her husband well enough to trust his anger would not extend so as to do harm to a child. A talk, a lesson, an instruction was occurring in the study. Nothing more, and so she returned to rambling for the fears for her daughter, of the unknown dangers and perils that awaited her. I was hardly listening, my thought entirely consumed by the knowledge that whatever instruction Jareth was being submitted to – it was being delivered by a cruel, brutal man, with no knowledge or care for understanding or empathy, whatever is in occurrence – it can only do harm.

I am writing at midnight, to divert my thought from little Jareth for a time, for he has still not been returned. Oh the fear he must be feeling! The guilt is horrendous, all-encompassing, all I wish is for it all to end.

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Sorry about the absolutely seriousness here, life is not particularly happy for any of my characters at the moment, I'll have to make there lives take an upward turn next time (send them on holiday or something insane!) Many thanks to all my reviewers as always. Please let me know what you think (I hope you like it!), as all reviews are extremely welcome and are highly motivational, also if you have any suggestions to make, feel free to speak up! 


	8. Chapter 8

_13th Jansplur_

Today was just as eventful as yesterday. I am so very tired, my head aches and I am so very confused and unsure as to what action I should take. I feel like sending a telegram home, requesting they send a carriage for me, but I cannot, Jareth needs me more than ever now, and I will not desert him.

Woke to find I had fallen asleep by the door of the King's study, where I had undoubtedly succumbed to lure of sleep, incapable of retaining my awareness. My head ached, and my legs wobbled something awful, it took several tries to stand steady. I pressed my ear to the study's door. Silence. Either empty or only possessed of one occupant. Smoothing my skirts I rushed, half tripping to the nursery, to look on Jareth's bed, the bed so lonely and alien without it's owner the night previous. The surge of relief I felt upon seeing him, curled up tightly underneath the folds of his blankets, was a feeling of unimaginable joy. I felt like scooping him up, and holding him tight to my bosom, but he looked so tired, so sound and lost in his sleep, I dared not. I looked upon his face, to observe his expression, to search for any sign of a change, any distortion in his countenance. Little was apparent, only the shadows beneath his eyes were a mark of the last night's experience.

Not wishing to disturb him, I took it upon myself to seek out the Queen, and learn if there had been any progress in the quest for Anastasia. I did not need to ask, as when I came down to the throne room, the commotion was unmistakable for a crisis. The Queen was raging, sobbing, screaming, I moved fast, as fast as my hopelessly restricted legs could take me, to meet the sight of the King shaking his daughter in his rage, her too dazed and fatigued to pay a care, and the Queen on her knees, begging for his mercy. Cowardly, it may have been, but I dared not approach, knew there was nothing in the world I was capable of doing, all of that I was capable was secreting myself on the stair, silently observing the scene.

Poor Anastasia, the experiences she must of suffered were terrible, she would not speak of them, either when her father demanded answers of her, or her mother pleaded. The king left for the stables with a barking order that she was no longer permitted to leave the castle, he even refused her entry to the grounds! The beast. At this she wept, at the thought of any last hope of freedom being snatched from her sight. Her mother drew her close, and rocked her as if a baby, kissing her head, whispering urgently, displaying ample pity. She may be vacuous, my mistress, but she is possessed of a good heart, and cares deeply for her children, one could say too deeply, for she clings to the, though in such a situation, such conduct is perfectly understandable.

After this spectacle, I returned to Jareth, just in time to find him stirring from his sleep. I immediately went to him, sat on the bed besides him and asked him of his experiences, after offering him some porridge, which he refused, stating he was not hungry. This in itself worried me, for normally he is possessed of a vast, insatiable appetite.

After much prodding and encouragement, he recounted to me, in some measure of incoherence, his experiences. He told me of how his father had spoken to him that he was proud of his bravery, the strength so rare in one so small, and this had pleased him, though he did not understand why his father saw him deserving of such praise, having warranted him attention so minimal in the past. He then told of how he had cried to his father, and asked him of why he had been so cruel, both to his mother and myself. And he told the child it was because he _loved_ his wife, it was not right for her to defy him, to question him, his anger was fully deserved.

This shocked me, and what shocked me more was that Jareth seemed totally accepting of the idea, as if it were logical made a perfect sense. I told him, have told him repeatedly now of the wrongness of the idea, that such defiance and demands do not warrant a punishment so severe. But I know not if I got through to him, for he would speak no more to me afterwards, tugging my hand to go to the stables, for the whole morning had passed.

To my surprise, I saw the Queen yet again there, speaking urgently with Hoggle, upon seeing me, she departed and Hoggle stared after her, dumbstruck, as if in disbelief. I approached him, requesting he tell me what had been spoken, but he refused to speak with me on the matter, taking an unusual interest in my dress, my hair, anything to divert the subject from the course I had directed.

Jareth rode as if in a state of absolute serenity, gently trotting about the stables, as if in great contemplation. It is frightening, all is so different. The King ate his meal alone today, the mistress came to me in the late afternoon, telling me not to take the child anywhere near his vicinity and to take him to the kitchens to take his meal. She the returned to her suite, and listening at the door, I heard the constant scratching of pen to paper, urgent and ceaseless. All is so very mysterious, I have no idea of what is in occurrence beyond my knowledge.

Dinner in the kitchens was a bizarre, alien experience for Jareth. He has never been allowed anywhere near the kitchens before, and was absorbed by the various quirks of the place. The roaring open fire, the filthy appliances and tools that littered the boards. He bothered the cook something terrible, running beneath her skirts and attempting to reach for some bread before it had been served, Weech (for that is Cook's given name, though it is rarely spoken) threatened him with her flaming-hot ladle, and he retreated to the bench, where all the family sat, all fourteen sisters, a bored nervous Lasander and myself. The Queen and the girls whispered constantly, I would even dare to say consiprationally amongst themselves, leaving me and the two males of the royal line as utter outcasts. The guards who usually occupy the seats looked on in awe at their fine clothes and manner, gaping like idiots at the girls, resulting in Olga and Tatyana glaring most ferociously at them all.

I worried so about Jareth, telling him once more about how his father's conduct was disgraceful, criminal, it had no true purpose excusing it. I am sure he does not listen though, and I was so troubled sending him too sleep, my head spinning with the consequences of his father's _teaching_. I read him the tale of the Beast, the Beast who was not only a monster in conduct and thought, but a beast in appearance, emphasising how all hated him. It was only when he learned of love and to truly understand it's meaning, that love can entail compromise, consideration, that he gained his true and eternal happiness.

_14th Jansplur_

I am writing with your page balanced on my knee, crowded in with eight others, and Jareth sat on my lap, asleep and resting fitfully.

Now, to explain how I came to occupy such a station in one day will take a fair few words, but I will try.

I was woken in the depth of the night, by the mistress, who was fully dressed, endowed of furious purpose. Her daughters were clustered behind her, all dressed in their heavy winter cloaks, each carrying a travelling bag on the person. I asked what in the world was going on, quickly emerging from beneath my covers and dressing behind my wooden screen. The mistress told me she had not time to explain, but we were leaving, all of us, me, her and the children. She told me how she could bear it no longer, she wished to return home, where she would seek sanctuary from her brother, High King of Fjorda, who lives solitary in his castle, with only his little daughter Sophia for company.

She told me to pack a bag for myself and Jareth, and this was problematic, as if resulted in hard decisions being made. My almanac, I left behind, deciding it was not a necessity, I very nearly left you behind as well diary, but I could not bear the thought, and besides, the things of which I have spoken hear should never be known by another. Packing my clothes, three sets of garments for Jareth, a hairbrush and the compendium of tales (for I am sure it will be more of use than ever before) I set out to wake him. The others remained anxiously waiting in the shadows, constantly peering behind their shoulders, as if awaiting the King's stealthy approach.

He rubbed his eyes, gazing up at me in confusion as I spoke to him urgently, rapidly helping him dress, tying his hair neatly in preparation for the travel. He asked me, bewildered and frightened of the unknown. I told him we were making a trip, to see his uncle and cousin. I told him of how exciting it would be for him, how healthy, how the good mountain air does wonders for one's health. All totally meaningless to Jareth of course, but I was desperately attempting to divert his attention from my true purpose.

Taking his hand, and fixing his little cloak about his shoulders, I took him out to greet his mother and array of siblings, which only disturbed him further. He said he wanted to stay, did not wish to leave his room, his toys, and most worryingly – his father. I told him he would remain alone, solitary in the castle, there would be no one to feed him, no one to dress him, only fear and deprivation would remain as companions to his despondency. I had only intended to scare him mildly, to dissuade him from his obstinacy, but the thoughts terrified him, and he clung to me, weeping pitifully. Struggling, I lifted him up, gesturing to Maria to take my bag. And with that, we exited to the stables, where Hoggle was waiting, holding aloft a latern with the two travelling carriages, each fitted with the healthiest, speediest horses the stables possessed.

It was a surprise to see him, for him being so very cowardly he was the least likely figure I could imagine to aid us in our escape.

It was at this point, I stopped her majesty in her progress, remembering Lasander, left alone in his cold, high chamber. She looked uncomfortable, casting a look up to the tower in which the living quarters lie, and she muttered, her voice barely audible:

"I am taking near all from him. His wife, daughters, son. He will be launched into the depths of despair, resentment, hatred for me for instigating such events. If I were to take his son, his heir, he would never leave us be, I am not sure if he will now. He may be content that I have left him his heir, and ridded him of the burden that he so clearly sights me and my girls as. He will chase us, send his lackeys on our heels, be sure of it, but if we can reach the boundaries of Fjorda, we will be saved. He cannot touch us when we live under my brother's protection, but if I took Lasander, he, he would stop at nothing. Do you understand Simplicity?" I nodded, understanding all too well. Her words make sense, but do not make it right that Lasander has been left behind, an unknowing sacrifice to the beast of a King.

It was bitterly cold, and we drew our clocks tight against our forms and were glad to retreat to the relative comfort of the carriages. With eight of us in each cab (for the girl's waiting woman is accompanying us), it is such a crush, and all are ill tempered and melancholy, unsure of our future. Unsure whether we will ever make it to the sanctuary of her majesty's brother before the King ensnares us once more.

Jareth has never been so very far from the castle, has never seen the sun rise, and it all enchanted him, displacing his fear and apprehension in a flood of delight and experience. To escape from the stifled, awkward environment of the cab, where I and Jareth sat with the six younger girls, we joined Hoggle, who was acting as our driver on the carriage front, whilst another stable hand nervously handled the other. He was surprised to see me poke my head out, and call at him to halt, and he obeyed me, drawing the structure to a sudden stop, much to the chagrin of all. I quickly hopped down from the seat and hoisted Jareth up, reaching for Hoggle's hand to aid my own climb. He quickly resumed his travel, as we sat, repeatedly being shot into the air from the pit ridden path, we passed the Labyrinth that I passed when I first came.

Jareth has clearly never seen it's true form in any clarity before, and how it _excited_ him. He constantly attempted to jump down to gain a closer glance, but I gripped onto him firmly, warning him he would dash his brains out beneath the horses hooves should he try. It appeared more threatening, more disturbing than ever before in the half light, being lit eerily by the warm hues of the rising sun, but nothing seemed to rob Jareth of his rapture of the place. He asked ceaseless questions of it, overwhelmed by the complexity and magnificence of the structure. I saw his eyes lust for it, could tell, from his words, his motions how he longed to possess it, to call it his. His father's work again, I am sure, no such instincts were so very prevalent in his mind before his instruction.

Hoggle took note of his fascination, and as it is with me, he seemed vaguely disturbed by the strength of such an instinct. He told him tales, tales of the evil of the place, how it distorted and altered with the wind, how it played on your deepest fears, your deepest desires to ensnare you within it's walls. Jareth payed little notice, did not appear to hold the remotest understanding of his words. My little master is possessed of desire, of disconcerting strength of mind, but does not truly understand what they entail, just how dangerous they can grow to be.

Whilst with him, I asked Hoggle why he had come, of what had inspired his display of bravery. He looked vaguely embarrassed, and shame faced, gestured to his belt, from where was hung a fistful of loose gems, all bound with a string, poor unpolished trinkets, but he looked on them with a gaze of absolute adoration. I needed to ask no more.

After nearly being thrown from the seat by a hidden rock lurking in the turf, I chose to return with Jareth to the cab, much to his protest. When we re-entered, I found the girls awkwardly positioned all attempting to slumber peacefully, utilising little cushions all had brought with them, to compensate for the torn and patched upholstery of the carriage's seats. Jareth however, soon broke this peace, and began nagging me persistently as to the nature of our destination. I tried to tell him I knew very little of the place, I knew it was mostly mountainous, mostly an icy, frost-ridden scape, with some warmer more attractive stretches towards the south. This did not satisfy him, but I knew no more, and hastily recited him a story from the collection in an attempt to send him to sleep, thanked be fortune he too was tired, and after much encouragement and re-positioning, he settled into a troubled sleep.

Waking, I have found I have slept near the whole day, and we are still progressing north, the Labyrinth itself is now in the far distance, and I am sure we area approaching the boundaries of the next kingdom. The Troll kingdom, governed by a King who is literally possessed of an iron fist. He is often threatening war on our Dwarven kingdom, as it borders his mountainous land, but has never yet lived to carry out a single threat. In my perceptions, I judge him to be a surprisingly docile leader, not the warmongering tyrant he would like others to perceive him as.

The King is not yet following us, I have seen nothing track our steps. But I still fear in dreadful anticipation, the sure extent of his rage should he halt us, I cannot bear to think of it. I desperately need to contact home, inform them of my change of circumstance. There are several major trading posts in the Troll kingdom, and I am sure when we pass the border, I will be possessed of enough security to make contact. I sit in the carriage, constantly jostled and knocked by the family I know so much and yet so little of, watching the sun set when it seems like just moments ago I followed it's rise in rapt awe.

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First of all, many thanks to all my lovely reviewers, that was the most reviewers I've ever got for a single chapter, and they are all very much appreciated! It's great that you can all take the time to let me know what you think, and I am glads you continue to enjoy it!

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always I love to know what you think.

I had better warn you, there may be a slight delay between this chapter and the next as life is getting quite busy right now! I'll try my hardest to get it finished on time!


	9. Chapter 9

_15th Jansplur_

Woke as the sun was rising anew. Jareth was once more awake and bothered me till I cracked open my weary eyes to sight the sun peeping up from behind the Troll mountains lying in the distance. It was at that moment that I realised we must of crossed the border, and we had at least some degree of security, for there are laws for King's in neighbouring kingdom's, unlike the lawless land we have left to the past.

It did not take me long to hear Hoggle, cursing and exclaiming something terrible. I poked my head far out of the window, and saw we were approaching a forest, a dark shrouded place – most foreboding. At first I could not see the cause of Hoggle's discontent, but as we grew closer, I saw the reason. Pixies were darting about the seat, tickling the horses ears, whispering taunts and curses, knotting the manes terribly with their deft fingers. I had seen such mayhem before. At home there are stables nearby, that stock miniature ponies, and they also suffered a similar infestation. I remembered it well, just how the devils drove the poor beasts near wild, and it was too the fortune of us all that I also remembered the solution, for I am sure the horses would of lost control in their mayhem, pulling the carriages to their destruction.

"You're shoes Hoggle! Hit the demons with your shoes! They cannot abide them!" He gave me a look as if I were crazed, that also communicated a sense of displeasure that I held his footwear in extremely low regard, but having no other means of halting their onslaught, he removed his old tattered, soiled boots and brandished them at the pixies, managing to bash one of the devils away from the horse's back – which led to a quick retreat from the entire mass of them. Hoggle shouted a command to the other driver to do the same, entreating him despite the stable hands bewildered protests, and soon control was resumed. It well pleased me when I heard Hoggle, in the lowest tones imaginable, communicate his thanks.

I believe that scene from my childhood, of our old care worn leather shoes and slippers tied, irremovable, to the roofs of the stables, will remain with me forever – the bizarreness of it! I do not fully understand why pixies hold such an aversion to footwear, just remember our old wise woman tramping throughout the homes of all in the village, pilfering all the shoes that she could find, as the local children trailed her in her madness

Jareth, as is usual for the boy, made a total nuisance of himself during this episode, insistently straining his head threw the window to gain sight of the crazed spectacle, it was also at this time that he came to the realisation that we were no longer within the warm, comforting boundaries of the Goblin Kingdom. He is now very much a stranger in strange land. He asked me where we were, with only the vaguest sense of apprehension apparent in his tone, and delivering my comfort in low softened tones, I told him we were in the Troll kingdom, only passing threw to gain access to his uncle, and that he would be protected from any harm. After this, he complained of hunger, as he has been incessantly throughout the journey, reaching in the bag, I removed one of the last apples the mistress had packed for the journey – and I realised how horribly low on food we were running only a day into our journey.

I took it upon myself to stop the carriage once more, and telling the eldest girl in the carriage, Irina, to watch over Jareth as I went to speak with his mother. It was quite touching, when the girl asked me to deliver her love to her mother, and her boundless, unrequited support.

I ran to keep pace with the other carriage, a few stretches ahead, much to Hoggle's vocal protests ordering me back to the vehicle ("it ain't safe in the the woods ye madwoman!") I nearly tripped over a gnarled branch hidden by the leaf ridden turf, but retained my balance, and was able to gain entry to the mistress's carriage.

I gave all contained in the carriage something of a shock, and Maria and Alexandra gave their little respective screams at what they thought to be some vicious beastie preying on their souls. As her response to my intrusion, the mistress came close to whacking me with her umbrella, but I was able to cry out my name and position before she had the chance to make such a gross mistake.

Lowering her umbrella, she sighed, weary from a day of ceaseless travel. Anastasia who sat immediately besides her mother, shuffled toward her sister to make the slight space required for my comfort. I waste no time in telling the mistress of the rapidly declining food supplies in the carriage, and asked if she had any to spare on her person. She looked shamed at this, began twisting the handkerchief tightly, as is her habit, before meeting my eyes – I knew then that she herself had no food remaining, the despair and hopelessness she emanated in her contorted expression made it all too clear. Our journey was nearly over before it had barely began.

She confided in me, breaking down despite the shows of bravery and restraint utilised for the well-being and common unity of her children. She told me of how she had agonised, how she had left with such determination and strength of will, only to realise now how little a chance we stand of reaching our sanctuary. I felt uncomfortable at this, I am not the best person in handling scenes of such intense emotion, especially in fully grown women, but I tried my hardest, offering a friendly ear, words as wise I could summon. I told her how we had come so far, already made so much progress, we were outside the reaches of the Kingdom of her husband – and that in itself was a remarkable achievement.

I didn't understand at first, when that comment made her eyes well up once more, until she told me of how she had slipped a potion into her husband's wine whilst in the kitchens the eve preceding our departure. It had been a sleeping draft, coercing him into slumber for a single day and a night, but she knew he would now be awake, awake and a true monster. She told me of her fears, the fears for the son she had left behind, the children surrounding her, the fear for herself.

I told her, urgently to regain some sense of control, to remember her purpose and her achievement, I told her that we would make it, achieve our goal. All were behind her prepared to help to the fullest of our ability. Most importantly of all, I told her to think of her children – to be strong for them. She nodded feebly, biting her lip till it paled and proceeded to comfort all the girls in the carriage with her, drawing each close to her chest upon seeing the mounting distress induced by her passionate display.

Before I left, hearing Jareth kicking up a storm in the following carriage, I gave the Queen a smile, and an awkward embrace, as a display of my support and admiration for what one once so weak and reliant was accomplishing. I told her, finishing on a note of hope, that the sign I had seen was marked with the name of a significant township in the Troll kingdom, where food and lodgings would be available in plentiful supply. She beamed at me then, thanked me exuberantly for my support – and most of all for remaining in the company of her and her children, she told me I was invaluable. It made me feel most proud, as if I have fianlly found my true calling.

The transition back to my appointed carriage was of notable interest. Walking up the shadowy lane, I saw a figure lurking in the shadows. I could not perceive the shape with any great clarity, but I could tell he was male, if from nothing else, his deep, melodious voice. He'd asked me, in lover's tones, to run away with him! The cheek of it! I immediately responded, telling him I partook in no such silliness, he sounded taken aback at this, almost whining with his words when he uttered, "you don't want me? But _all_ want me!" Once more I replied, telling the lecherous cretin I most certainly did not 'want' him in any sense of the word and I was sure with such an attitude no other maid of any repute would either. I could perceive his mouth gape with amazement at my refusal, and before he faded away (for I believe he must have been one of those troublesome, useless spirits who linger in such abodes) he looked utterly despondent. It was all somewhat amusing.

Back in the carriage, Jareth was fighting, as if a holy terror, with his sisters. He had torn holes in Irina's dress, was terrorizing Valeriya and biting Xenia wildly as she desperately tried to protect her youngest sister from her brother's torment. I commanded order, and a funeral hush settled over the company, all frozen in their tracks, Jareth hand still tightly coiled around little Valeriya's hair. Pulling the girl's hair free, and patting her on the head as an acknowledgement of her easy tears, I told Jareth how he was the only male remaining, and all relied on him for support, all looked on him as an example (it must be stated I can stretch the truth to some degree, if it is a necessity.)

He was taken with this new appointed role of representative of male supremacy and began to adopt the role of the only man he had ever truly had as an example, his father. This of course, was infinitely worse than and childish tantrums he had previously delivered. It resulted in him telling all not to defy him, barraging us all with false command and certainty. He was shouting and raging, in a poor, sorry mimic of his father's authority.

I shook him till his teeth rattled, told him for the umpteenth time, he must never, never act in such a way, told him once more of the devil, the evil that was the man he had known as father. But the indifference, the coldness with which he looked on me, reminded me only of the immeasurable influence that so very secret encounter with his father the event possessed.

Desperate to distract him from the memory of his father, who Jareth holds in some bizarre, twisted state of reveration despite my slanders against his character, I read him another story. This time, the tale was more obscure, being titled _The Shadow_, and telling of a learned man, who travelled to a far distant isle, where dozing by the fire – he found he lost his shadow. It did not worry him for a while, and he returned home. Years passed. One day a stranger came a knocking on the door – a man the vision of himself, his shadow having gained a sentient form. They passed time together, speaking, as if long-familiar friends, as if both full and whole souls in their equality, and the shadow remained under his former master's hospitality. The tale finished a shade dark, with the shadow assuming full mortality, growing rich and powerful, snatching the identity of his master to marry a beautiful princess. Through it all, the deposed master could only watch, helpless, as he himself faded away to nothing.

I had a rapt audience beyond Jareth in my recitation, for the girls payed as much attention as their brother, who although vaguely disturbed by the tale, could not possible begin to understand the resentment and loss it communicated in it's meaning. It left him blinded by a darkness more thick and penetrating than that that obscured our vision through the window. Jareth thankfully discarded thought of his father for a while as a result of my tale, and for that alone it was worth his discomfort.

The girls praised me for alleviating their boredom, which made the dark, somewhat morbid tale yet more worthwhile. I know the younger girls only most superficially, and it was nice to get a chance to interact with them in some degree of depth. All are sweet girls, though because of their youth display few marks of independent character, though Irina is displaying many of the leadership traits I associate most strongly with Olga.

The rest of the day was for the most part spent mindlessly, chatting amiably, more freely and loosely than my more stifled, etiquette bound converse with the older girls. I was generally using all and any techniques at my disposal to rid them of their pangs of hunger, their dreadful homesickness and apprehension for their future.

It was to my huge relief that we emerged on the other side of the forest, and we are are now housed in an inn for the night, after having supped on what seemed to be the most beautiful food I have ever tasted – fresh, tanned bread accompanied by goat's milk – heaven! It especially pleased Jareth, as towards the finish of our journey, he gripped his tummy as if a dying man, feigning pitiful weakness and gesturing towards his mouth for a morsel of food. He behaved like a miniature ravenous beast at the table – even asking for jam, the cheek in such a skimpy place! But still, the inn-keepers wife, despite her Troll heritage (for they are usually a most sullen race) found him amusing, chuckling, and presented him with a cut of a preserve she had ready for such occasions. It is lucky the mistress had the sense to bring an ample supply of coinage – we would be lost without it, penniless and groundless – nothing but well-clothed beggars.

It is a cramp, for I am sleeping on a bench outside the rooms for they do not posses enough beds to house us all. I do however anticipate Jareth to be restless through the night, for he has never slept in a bed apart from the voluminous covers of the structure remaining forlorn in the castle, and so although my sleep will be light, and far from comfortable, it may be to my good fortune.

I will have it written here however that I pity Hoggle more than I – he is bedding for the night in the stables! The look of horror on his face was priceless! Still, he is aware of his position and relegated himself to it, sulkily requesting a blanket.

I finish filling this page at a quarter to eleven, for we arrived late in the small town in which we claim our peace and sanctuary, and it has taken a time to get all settled.

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As always, thank you for the wonderful response everyone! It is so very appreciated to have such a good response, it really makes me want to write, and as you can see, it got this chapter finished on time (just about, I've been busy as it's been half term!) 

I can inform you that my writing for my next big project is coming along well, I have finally cracked the style and the voice. Also, the next chapter of _The Ties that Bind_ is finished, and will be uploaded tomorrow. My profile has been updated with new details (that will probably change – yet again, so keep checking) if you want to find out more about up and coming projects!


	10. Chapter 10

_16th Jansplur_

Betrayal. Mother always told me to never trust a Troll, and I should of lived by her word, my mam never told anything but a truth – and in my relief for gaining a safe haven for the night I forgot all I had ever been taught, my perception of truth clouded by my desperate hunger and weariness.

It is to my relief that I can write that we escaped by the skin of our teeth, though of course I will at first have to explain what we were escaping _from_.

Last night, I wrote that it may be a thankful situation to find myself suffering such discomfort during my slumber, and I was right, though not in a sense I had remotely anticipated. As I drowsed, desperately trying to gain some badly needed rest and replenishment, I heard low, conspiring voices below. At first I tried to ignore, for as a child I was brought up not to intrude on personal converse (the virtuous names of I and my sisters do not exist without due reason), but the voices were so persistent, and I found something menacing and dastardly in their tone, so I roused myself and crept to the peak of the stairs, allowing myself an insight to their speak.

I heard then speak of riders, strange, mystical apparitions, cloaked all in the deepest black riding astride strange half-beasts. Heard them spoke of how they must be demons, devils – they were most certainly not sentient in any sense of the word. I heard them whisper lightly of how they had rode about the town, reciting powerfully, all penetratingly, the names of the Imperial Family of the Goblin Kingdom and tempting all inmates of the wretched pit of a town with the promise of a rich reward for the betrayal of their sanctuary.

I almost recoiled to hear the reference – us, discovered, and by the King's men (he appears to be a fearful sorcerer, as well as a truly monstrous King and husband, exhibiting evidence of his power -f or he can give life to nothing but shadows.) I felt like running immediately to the Queen, waking her to inform her of the development, but knew the panic and mayhem such a warning would induce, knew of the rashness of such a course of action. So I waited, for further information to be delivered to my ears desperately awaiting any form of development.

They continued on the subject, spoke of us, of our fine clothes, our strange manner – and above all, our foreign race. They are not fools these Trolls, they knew exactly who we were, it was only left to the measure of the goodness to lead to their choice. My blood rose from the outrage to here them discuss us as if hunks of meat, discussing our value, they spoke clearly of how me, Hoggle and the stable-boy where of no use, being not of noble blood – totally worthless. They spoke of how they would capture the rest, after our murders to quiet us, of how it would be easy, our party consisting of mere children and weak willed, jaundiced women. I knew then that they knew no loyalty, knew the danger we were in. I heard them discuss of how they would give us our breakfast, feeding us unsuspecting on our breakfast, drugged to insure the simplicity and ease of our imprisonment.

I had heard enough at that point, and I only listened to hear them prepare for their own short rest before an early rise to make the preparations for our submission. I secreted myself in the broom cupboard, stuffing my blanket with my pillow to give the illusion of my presence there, waiting till I heard their heavy lumbering footsteps pass me by, and the heavy door of their chamber grate across the floor to a close.

Giving them mere minutes to ensure their sound slumber, I chanced my escape, and immediately progressed to the Queen's room that she shared with four of her elder daughters. She looked troubled in her sleep, a frown creasing her brown, her form twisting and writhing beneath the covers. I gently, yet urgently tapped her arm, and she woke after a series of incoherent mumbles, that from what I could discern were unconscious voicing of the fears she dared not speak in waking hours.

I informed her in low tones, so as not to disturb the girls, of our betrayal of how the King's men were searching. She immediately clung to me, almost as if to shake me, asked me to deny my words as folly, as a twisted jest. But I could not, and she saw from my stony face that I told not a lie – I spoke nothing but truth.

She reacted immediately at the revelation, dressing herself hurriedly, pulling a comb roughly through her thick, sleep tangled coils of golden hair before proceeding to gently rouse each daughter, and informed me to do the same with the other girls.

I advanced quickly, and attempted to rouse each child without disturbing their senses, though to little avail in the case of Alexandra, who became excessively excited at the prospect of 'midnight escape.' I gave a little sigh at her blind enthusiasm, it's as if she sees all our hardship as a happy, sugar coated adventure, she sees not the potential for harm and pain.

We were thankfully efficient in our preparations, for the girls are generally sensible, subdued creatures who understood the need for secrecy, though Alexandra and Maria needed to be hushed repeatedly to cease their chatter. It only took a quart of an hour for all to be roused, dress and quickly pack the bags they had been so very relieved to scatter about their little room.

I nearly forgot Jareth in the rush of preparation, only remembering him when all were silently descending the stairs. I whispered lowly to the mistress of him and hurried back to his tiny side room, with a roof so low that it could only just accommodate my size, something excessively rare in foreign climates.

Jareth, being yet more excitable than his girlish sisters, was somewhat problematic when I woke him. He immediately began trying to hit me with his little fists, as if anticipating an attack. I spoke urgently to him, holding the candle to my face so he could see it was I and I came to him with the best of intention. This quelled his blind aggression, and he proceeded to loudly question me as to 'what in the worlds is happening?' I drew my finger to my lips, silencing gesturing for silence, and lowly whispered to him to dress, told him of our imminent departure, as I packed the rest of his things that lay strewn about the floor.

I grew more anxious and fretful with each passing second, fearing those heavy creaks on the boards of the rickety floor, fearing the brutish rage of a Troll. I was able to have him ready in five minutes, and snatching hold of his hand, hurried from the room.

I could not hold back a squeal at the sight of our traitorous host standing before me, attired in his night robes, his huge towering form a sight of terror. I tried desperately to evade him, darting beneath his legs, running rings about him – all to no avail. He yanked hold of my neat bun, and Jareth's lengthy hair (I _must _get it cut, if anything to disguise his true identity) holding us both with one arm as thick as a tree trunk - as if we were nothing more than children's rag dolls.

I screamed loudly from the desperate pain, knew of the foolishness, of how the entire street would be roused, but I could not contain the upsurgence of dreadful anticipation for the worst. Jareth made a similar din, biting and kicking vainly at the air in his frenzy. He he held us as if marionettes, laughing cruelly, with a ignorant malice, cursing our cunning and lumbering down the stairs to halt the rest of our party in their escape.

Now, I believed at the exact moment of time - when the beast reached the foot of the stair, and saw the mistress and her daughters ransacking the food cupboards desperately for any form of lengthy provision - that it was our end. But it was not to be, thanked be the Gods.

I glanced over the Jareth, the child to whom I have sworn myself to the care of but was powerless to protect, and his eyes were closed, he was eerily calm – eyes screwed up tightly in concentration.

As I watched, he disappeared, literally vanished from the creatures grip, leaving our captor's huge hand coiled around nothing but a void. His recently acquired skill, I remembered it at once, had saved him from confinement. How thankful I was for that small mercy.

I tried to distract him from the mistress and the girls who were trapped in the kitchen, with my taunts and jeers that tried to draw his rage unto me, to distract his steadfast attention. All stood in a close knit ring for protection as he stood fast in the doorway - blocking their only means of escape. Irina however stood separate from the other, holding aloft a saucepan as if it were an extremely lethal bayonet, though her hands were trembling. The rest stood still, rigid with terror – certain in the knowledge all had been brought to an end. That all their effort and struggle had been for nothing.

It was then that the miracle happened. The Troll, having overcome his dim-witted astonishment at Jareth's disappearance, was approaching the family, who recoiled in terror, though Irina, brave girl, stood firm despite her clearly apparent fear. He spoke to her as she stood feet below him, her head raised to meet his near-blank gaze:

"Silly girl! Do you truly think you can harm me, you are nothing but a weakling!" He reached out to grab hold of her – but his hand stopped mid way in his approach, as a huge crash resounded through the room, and he toppled to the cobbled floor - my head only being saved from dashing against the floor by the creature's now-loosened grip. Stretching my head, I could see a weighty metal tray settling to a stop besides the cracked head of the monster – his eyes blanker than they ever were from their idiocy in life.

The mistress cried it was a miracle, and immediately ran forward to embrace Irina for her show of bravery, causing the girl to give a rosy blush of pleasure. I however, was occupied with looking up, and there I saw him, Jareth perched on the rafters, grinning at the sight of the fallen giant, legs dangling precariously a great height above the ground. I gave him a beam to reward his initiative, and called for him to come down – he promptly did so, and resuming our former secrecy and hush, with bags brimming over with food and varying other supplies – we quickly entered the stables.

It was my fast thinking that I told the mistress the devil-riders would of surely be searching for carriages matching the descriptions of the ones in which we occupied, and suggested that we move our occupancy to the two far more dilapidated affairs, little more than pony traps with extended hoods covering the whole breathe of the seating area, but perfectly serviceable. She agreed, praising me for my logic in thinking, and rousing a disgruntled Hoggle and stable boy from their rest in the hay to take control of the enemies vehicles, we swiftly departed the house in which we so nearly met our end. Straining my head back as we reached the end of the shadow shrouded lane, I saw a light flicker in the main bedroom of the place. Despite their cruel intentions – all I could feel was pity for the wife who would descend the stairs to find her love lying motionless on the cobbles.

Although certainly far less comfortable than the imperial carriages, they are far more safe in their masking of our true identity and purpose - and we can be sure in the knowledge that we have enough food supplies to last us a fair few days. The mistress also proudly presented a map she had pilfered from the trap, something of great use that we are in great need of, for from now on the roads we must follow (to avoid the riders) become more obscure, few are labelled – I can see this map will be our life line.

Jareth has spent most of the day gloating, and constantly makes mention of his bravado to gain yet more lavishes of praise. Though after a whole day of his self-trumpeting it has become somewhat tiresome, and because of our disturbed sleep I and the girls are most tired. Nothing, however, seems to quell Jareth's seemingly boundless vigour and energy – not even his demonstration of his power, which in itself points to one thing – his magic is growing stronger.

We now know with certainty the King is after us, he is clearly infuriated at my mistress's strength of mind and will – and will go to great measures to see about our return. Irina, a most solemn, logical girl for her twelve years, spoke to me of what she knows of her father, and said that he is a penny pincher despises expense, so the offer of monetary reward for our capture is a significant gesture on his part. This does not surprise me, casting my mind back to the poverty and squalor of the Kingdom from which we are fleeing.

I have been told by the mistress the next and final kingdom (before reaching her brother's land) through which we will pass is that of the Elfin Kingdom. It will without doubt be the most perilous kingdom through which we will pass for the King has strong family ties to the place – and there are many there in allegiance with him. The mistress however has informed me that she too has family there, and we will just have to be careful in choosing our allies there, and watch our step with more care than ever before.

Due to the mayhem at our last stop, we were unable to reach any reliable form of courier, so my message to my family remains undelivered. I do hope they do not worry for not receiving a letter from me for such a while, but until we reach safety – there is just so little I can do.

I thought that we were jolted about terribly on the last stretch of our journey, but this is far, far worse. The roads here are riddled with dips and trenches and there are all variety of spirits and ghoulies inhabiting the copses that litter the place. Hoggle will be most displeased. Still we retain our freedom of passage and have not yet been halted, and so I hold strong hope we will reach our destination in safety.

Have finished writing at seven in the evening (for I need to catch up on my sleep with an early rest) Jareth still refuses to settle. I would dare to declare he appears to be possessed of a sole aim – keeping me from slumber. Still, all I can do is attempt to ignore him and his childish attempts at disruption, there is nothing wrong with him (for he is not ill, and has eaten well enough to hold no hunger), and he is only squawking for the attention.

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Chapter 10, wow is this going on forever! I never thought I was going to take it this far, still, I find it fun still, and have the time so I'll continue as long as I can.

For general interest, the tale of the Shadow I spoke of in the last chapter is a real fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson, it's good, very dark though (for a fairy tale anyway)! And the love-talking spirit was taken from Brian Froud's book, Good Faeries, Bad Faeries (he did the design for the film.) So that's my acknowledgement, should of said about that last chapter, also the bit about the Pixies book was adapted from Froud's book.

As always, thank-you very much for reviewing, it's greatly appreciated and really gives me the drive to continue, I love to know what you think, so please review!

Oh yes, next chapter might be delayed, because I'm spending a few nights away from home, and won't be able to get on the computer to write – I'll try to get it up on time, but you'll have to wait and see...

Hope you like it, enjoy!


	11. Chapter 11

_17th Jansplur_

A mad day, I am lucky that we're still in one piece after the mad rush through which we have suffered, and suffer still, as the carriage is rumbling across the turf relentlessly as we race to the sight of our ever closer sanctuary.

Jareth, as he has grown a practice of doing, woke me up early to see the sun rise. I told him it was very nice, before attempting to return to my sleep, for I was so tired after the previous hectic night, but he shook me persistently till I could no longer ignore him.

Giving me a look of the utmost solemnity, he asked me of his father, whether back home he would be seeing the same perception of the world that we saw from our carriage window. It was a most theological, well thought question for a little child, so I carefully considered my answer. Telling him it was more than likely his view was the same as ours, thinking back to how the view of the sun remained unchanged to that I woke to each early morning back home.

This loose, barely tangible form of communion between them seemed to comfort him somewhat. He desperately misses his father, you can tell, by the reverence with which he speaks his name, the backward glances he constantly makes through the window, when of course he is not misbehaving or teasing all around him.

It is a weird, twisted bond they share. As far as I can gather, before the confrontation, his father paid the child little if any attention, and only displayed interest in him when he showed common traits to himself – passion, fury, loose, unbridled rage. All most dangerous incarnations of emotion – why can't the child think and take pleasure in nice things? I have told him, as I have recorded here, so very many times to disregard whatever his father told him of that time, but I think now the more I attempt to dissuade him from his father's powerful influence the more intent Jareth becomes to follow his words. I think it is because his father is the only figure he has ever had as any figure of admiration, he has elevated him to the status of a near idol. I worry so that his father is the image of the man he will one day strive to become.

But it is my position to ensure such a thought is never realised, his father is evil. Evil, evil, evil. I cannot emphasis it enough, and at least Jareth has an ounce of good in him – bravery, thoughtfulness, and thought it is constantly misplaced - loyalty.

The hours of the morning passed well enough, all of us in the carriage snacked on some seeded buns we had taken from the Trolls, chatting and laughing merrily as Hoggle and his fellow stable-hand rode on, near tireless. It is thankful male Dwarves are possessed of such unyielding endurance (for they only require a handful of hours of sleep every few days.) If we had to rely on any other drivers we would of surely never passed by the boundaries of the Goblin Kingdom, let alone those of the Troll lands, which we gladly left behind us at around midday.

The first thing I noticed of the newly entered Elfin kingdom was the air – it was as if it was perfumed, it smelt all of lilies and rose bloom - none of the horse dung and rot that had been rife in the land through which we just passed. It was all most sickly, it made me feel compelled to vomit being used to far harsher and unpleasant environments in my time – the floral nature of the air was overpowering and alien to me. However, the girls loved it, exclaiming, 'I say! Is it not lovely!' and poking their heads out of the doors to coo at the loveliness of it all.

It took us till early evening to find a place of habitation. There were various elves scattered about the green and pleasant forest that we were entering at the time. They were generally lounging on the floor, speaking in their strange flowery gibberish, playing lutes, painting and generally looking noble and aloof. Some of the maidens who had plaited flowers into their lengthy lustrous hair (most impractical – one can go too far to achieve a pleasant façade) gave light, merry laughs at the sight of us, waving in welcome to the girls who motioned to them enthusiastically.

As Jareth looked on disdainfully at the pretty sight of the figures frolicking in the various scattered patches of greenery and wild flowers, the carriage was eased to a gentle halt, as the mistress exited the first carriage.

She really came into her own in such an environment, taking charge, ordering the decrepit carriages to a rest by yet another crop of trees (that looked totally alike to my eyes) and bravely approached the clear leader of the group, who sat laughing cheerily kissing his wife and watching his child play amongst the flowers – and no, it was not that that marked him as a sovereign (for most were married) but his circlet of gold.

They're minimalists these elves, believe strongly in the forces of nature and how life should be led in harmony with it, it generally involves much frolicking – I disagree. I believe life is a constant war and taming of nature, the demon is either scorching you with it's fire or freezing you with the cold – it is no friend. A murderer cannot be an ally, the bitter winter having taken my mam's life, a sin for which I shall never forgive it, sentient or not.

He was a most amiable man, asking her politely from where she came, and her hastily, and somewhat clumsily telling him she was a lady fleeing a barbarous husband, which is perfect truth, though she withheld the extent of her station. I was impressed by her aptitude for the language, she is near-fluent in it, only stumbling over a few of their more complicated word formations.

During madam's negotiations for lodgings for the night, Jareth wandered over to the Soveriegn's child, kicking tress as he went. He gave the lute player a glare that near spoke 'stop playing now you incompetent. Unless you wish for your _pretty_ instrument to be smashed.' The noise ceased immediately. Jareth ceased his malovelant stare and moved on to the little child, a boy his own age, who was daintily picking at the daisies sprouting in the grass.

Jareth asked the child to look at him, to bask in the awe of his presence, but the small boy could not understand his words, which are as much gibberish to him as their words are to I, and continued playing innocently in the grass. This did not please Jareth at all, his defiance appealed to the deep recesses of anger the lie within him, and he moved in front of the child, gripping him by the shoulders in an unavoidable grip. Jareth demanded for him to play with him, demanded his unwavering attention.

It was lucky I was at hand to draw Jareth sharply away from the youngster, a most frail and delicate child, even in comparison to Jareth's worrying paleness, for I am sure Jareth could of hurt him - albeit without intent. It seems to me that despite the ever widening distance between him and his father, he only seems to be growing yet more like him, more vicious, more uncompromising – more cruel. It needs to be stopped, and soon before it is taken out of control – but I know not _how_.

Luckily, the adults were too engrossed in their political jargon to pay notice to the terror of the scene, the Elfin child was quite disturbed by the whole instance, and just stood petrified to the ground as if in impenetrable shock for having witnessed the potential for evil in passion and feeling. I gave him an apple from the bag, and patted him lightly on the head as Jareth sulked despondent by a tree. The child was immensely grateful for such a show of compassion and gave me a tight, loving hug to display his thanks. It was a most dizzying pleasure to experience such pure and innocent love as that of a child – unrequited and uncorrupted. It touched me, and I squeezed him back to display my warmth in return.

They may appear a master race to most these elves – so very proud and stately as they are, but I cannot hold a race in such regard when they do not pay notice to the visble suffering of their children.

After this, the mistress returned to our group, mighty pleased with herself as having talked her way into a rest for us for the night. She gleefully informed us all that the King of the party we were sharing the resting place of, had told her her brother's kingdom (which she enquired of, telling him she had family there, once again a truth) is mere miles away, the border is close, and we should make it there with a day of steady riding – oh what a relief!

All began chattering excitedly and merrily at the thought of what joys our sanctuary will hold – warm beds, generous banquets and fine clothes were the subject of choice for most, all speaking the terms with a holy reverence.

Jareth however, partook in no such talk, staying silent watching us all carefully, as if judging our respective merit, to see whether we were worthy of his input into our converse. After a little while, he approached his mother from behind, tugging at her skirts briskly with his little hands. She turned to him, smiling and laughing at the sight of her little son gazing up at her in earnest, asking of him what he desired. He answered her immediately, his voice, sure and certain in it's reason, "when will papa be joining us?"

Her face turned ashen as the look in the child's eyes, the desire and the want for the father from whom she was fleeing. She bent down to his level, her skirts dragging along the dew-ridden floor, and gripping his little shoulders, near shaking him, horror in her voice, she answered him, "never, never will he come near us again. Any of us. Do you understand? Do you understand _why_?" Jareth shook his head, eyes transfixed to his mothers as all stood silent, staring. He looked so terribly scared at the power the mother always so weak was wielding, I had to hold myself back from running to his protection, but knew it was all for the greater good.

"Because he is a monster. The spawn of evil, just as it was so with his father, and his father before him. I refuse to keep you, my children, my sweet beloved angels in the company of such a man, for fear of the evil he could do unto you."

Her grip lessened slightly, her look softened, and she drew him into an embrace, still as all looked on, "I'm sorry my little one. Did I scare you? I meant no such thing, you are still so very little and you cannot perceive truly, you cannot understand why we run, yet cannot yet understand your father or his influence – and that in itself is a blessing."

She brushed her lips against his scalp, stroking his wispy hair tenderly before directing him to my care. I could not help but think from the malevolent embittered gaze he cast unto his mother, that he understands far more than even she.

Our jubilant display of victory was subdued for the rest of the evening, as all looked more worried than ever before, near all casting looks at Jareth, the _outsider_, the doubt raiser among our merry little band, as they all undoubtedly perceive him. From the way they look on him you would think they see him as the emissary of his father's evil, of which he is no such thing, there is good in him, I have witnessed it, it is such a pity it is so rarely apparent to others.

Alexandra and Marie spent a merry time flirting with some of the handsome Elfin youths, who despite their solemnity, were most polite, answering their ceaseless petty questions of their native land from which their court is travelling. Olga, who is most dedicated to her sewing if nothing else, removed her embroidery from her travelling bag and worked on a pictorial sampler.

Tatyana did likewise, working on a ongoing piece of knitting she has apparently been working on for an age, it is a technicolour scarf, around six feet long, trailing to the floor. The Elfin child was greatly enchanted by it, playing with the loose strands and praising the vibrant colours, and indeed the excessive quantity of them. Jareth looked on from the distance, his gaze worryingly dark and shadowed, as if his mind actively pondering avenues of unspeakable cruelty.

We were all taken by surprise when one of the watchmen posted on the outskirts of the woods came sprinting to our company, tireless despite having run what must have been more than a mile, rapidly informing his Sovereign of (as the Queen told us) hooded riders advancing, looking poised for for attack.

The Queen immediately reacted to he news, not as shocked as before, she efficiently, hurriedly organised us all into our respective carriages. Hurrying to the ruler, she bowed her head low to the ground, thanking him for his extension of grace, but informing him she had reason to flee, but not before pleading earnestly with him not to betray our presence in the lands. He granted her leave, kissing her lightly on the cheek as if she were his sister, granting her his blessing, as she gave him her own.

We were soon sweeping off on our way once more. The King's riders have driven us to pursue our final stretch – and now all that remains is the chase. The winner is solely dependent on simply who is possessed of greater speed and cunning.

I'm not sure whether to write of this, for it betrays something I do not wish to remember, but as the mistress translated the Elfish warning of the riders into her common tongue, I observed Jareth – his reaction to the omen. He raised his head from where it had been cast down, grasping each of her words fervently, his eyes alight at the thought of the tangible link to the King – his dear 'papa.' It is a blessing I was watching him, for he made to slink off into the depth of the near pitch dark woods, and it was only I yanking hold of his little cloak and firmly delivering him to the carriage, that meant he is still in our company. Upon entering the carriage he gave me a most evil glare at I restraining him from what he clearly interprets as escape, and he continues to cast such cruel glances onto me as I write now.

It is strange that a grown woman should feel so – but his intensity intimidates me, there is something unspeakably terrible about him, something I cannot place.

It is horrible that I know his reason for wanting to leave all who love him, and I will let that horror remain within me alone, and pray to God that it never manifests itself in any future action.

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It's taken me a while to realise, but my chapter's have gotten really, really long. Looking back at some of my earliest stuff, the shortness of it is ludicrous, I think one came in at about 995 words, it takes about two minutes to read and it's painfully crude, I'm gonna have a lot of rewriting to do if I get around to it!

Anyway, I hope that you all like this chapter (despite the relative broodiness of it), sorry for the delay – I hope it was worth it! As always, I would love to know what you think through reviews if you can, and thanks as always to all reviewers!

Oh yes, I can inform you that I have actually planned how to end this thing! I was living in dread at the prosect of doing diary entries for every day untill Jareth reaches the eighteen - soemthing I'm not gonna touch with a barge pole - I'd probably be about seventy when I finished it if I took that approach!


	12. Chapter 12

_18th Jansplur_

The bliss of being on a solid, solid floor, a coverlet beneath my stomach as I write, it is truly glorious! I believe I only now am coming to the realisation of just how fatigued I am by our journey, it only took a few days (miraculously) for us to reach here, but it could have been endless months from how all the limbs and muscles in my being ache so. But still, I am safe now, as are we all, but oh how close it came to things manifesting differently!

Could barely sleep last night, I believe the anticipation of retching our goal was too tempting to await, and so for most of the night I sat with the girls. Participating in their chatter over their new futures that await them, as Jareth sat sullen and silent, hugging his knees close to his chest, as if to make himself so small he would render his being unseen.

I tried to involve him, tried to make him speak, but he is refusing to associate with me, even now, and possibly more so than before he still snubs me. Still, I will soon re-establish order, and see it done that such defiance ceases without hesitation.

The girls, even the generally quiet and thoughtful Irina were all parroting away, with little Valeriya often gazing wide eyed in mystification at the nonsense of which we spoke as she held her porcelain doll. So beautifully dressed in the frilled nightdress it was so carefully attired in before our departure. It is silly to dwell so much on a child's toy, but it is _such_ a beauty. All an ashen pale face with reddened lips and cheeks, her golden locks flawlessly curled, her tiny toes carved with such utter precision and protected from the harsh weight of nature by silken slippers, complete with little pointed peaks.

How I would love such a doll to take home to my youngest sisters, little Perseverance is as of yet only three – she would be lost for words with the sight of such a toy, I can hardly imagine her thrill at actually being allowed to _touch _such a dolly. The closest she has had to such a thing was a scraggy rag doll knitted by I for her as a babe – such a peasant compared to the lady sat on the knee of little Valeriya! I shall have to coax the child one day to possibly lend it to me when she grows too old her it's use, something these royal children do within a matter months – they hold little value of the need for longevity or the expense at which they are cared for..

Such petty observation makes me appear such a vacuous fool! I must return to matters of more introspection and future interest.

Progressing, we first sighted the ever closer mountains to Fjorda at around midday. I heard the Queen's exclamation even from our closed carriage! It must be a feeling of such exhilaration for her, to set eyes once more on the lands she was so cruelly snatched from as a girl to be taken as a bride for the womanising, wholly immoral Goblin King. She must have been so _scared_, so apprehensive of all upon her departure – it is no wonder she was so very timid and quaking before her spouse when I first met her, and it is truly excellent that sight of the extent of his cruelty has inspired her courage.

I prodded Jareth at the sight of the blue topped mountain peaks adorned with lazy cloud littering the scape, telling him our new home was in sight, he could see it through the window of he so wished. He ignored my coaxing, if anything burying his head yet further into his lap, I believe he may have been crying, though how any, even a child, can spare tears for the Goblin King is beyond my understanding. He appears to be in some curious, depths of denial, as if refusing to success or integrate with his new surroundings.

I also noticed at this time a sharp drop in temperature, as if the air around us stifled. Plumes arose from my mouth with each breathe, and I shuddered from the sudden shift in climate, pulling my cloak tightly around me, as I noticed the other girls do the same. Jareth, remained unmoved, he was too lost in his worryingly active little mind to pay any concern to exterior comfort. He's worrying me that boy, even now he lies on his bed in the adjoining room – I'm sure as I write I can hear him sobbing.

The borders were ever approaching, and I knew that we were close, knew with each trot of the horses ever tiring hooves we were drawing closer to the safety of the castle walls, that were jutting up above the little houses and stables of the main province. I had to restrain myself from not poking my head from the window, shouting for Hoggle to increase his speed - so was my anticipation!

I was about to do just as I had designed above, I did indeed shove my head from the window, my breathe grew rasping from the bitterness of it, the air was sharp and biting – and so very, very clear. That was my blessing, for I could see then, the riders, steadily gaining on our progress. I hesitated not a moment in belting out a warning, making use of my ample vocal capacity. When we finally came to safety, Hoggle would rub his ears in mock pain, muttering 'ye fair blasted me ears out!'

I was thrown back to the back of the carriage by the force of the acceleration as Hoggle drove his boots yet further into the horses with his spurs, hollering to his work companion to do the same. All the others immediately began exclaiming, and Jareth's head darted up from it's seclusion and he near threw himself at the window, straining his head so his hair was tousled and whipped about by the wind, desperately craving a glimpse of his father's emissaries, reaching his little hand out pathetically as if to link hands with the impossible.

I yanked him back, sat him firmly on my knee, despite how his weight nearly winded me, or how he kicked, struggled and cried for me to set him loose. I employed Irina as my eyes to peer cautiously from the windows, to inform me of their progress. She kept an exciting, invigorating commentary on events as Jareth did nothing but persistently raise his voice, cursing me to the bowels of hell.

I struck him across his little stony face for that remark, the cheek of it, told him how dare he, a near heathen, commit I, a God-fearing worshipper and practiser to eternal torment. I asked him if he believed I truly deserved such a future. He mumbled, something I could not quite make out, maybe that was a fortune.

As our war of words was progressing along it's merry way, we grew consistently closer, I heard Irina cry out with glee at the sight of her Uncle's winter palace, tucked away behind the high fortifications, jutting above the general mundaneity and normality of the sprawling town that lay at the foot of the castle's walls. The Winter Palace is in what I am informed is a warmer (though that is hardly apparent from the bitterness of the place) sector of his Kingdom, God forbid what the rest of his land is like! Jareth kicked, and struggled yet more so in his desperation at this, well aware it was his last conceivable point at which freedom stood a chance of attainment.

He did his disappearing trick once more, evading my grasp, his breathe ragged as he shoved his head once more out of the window at the sight of the riders galloping yet closer, I reached out for him to draw him back as he screamed blue murder. It was to my horror that I saw as I extended my head through the gap the riders so terribly close, a mere twenty yards away, no more. What was worse that I saw one of the rider's hoods swept back by the flurry of wind that chased our progress, saw the face behind it – that of the King.

I saw him pull his exhausted beast to a halt, as the poor creature faltered and foamed desperately from the pressed exhaustion. I saw the agony in his eyes then, felt a flicker of wild compassion for the father seeing his child snatched from him irretrievably. That notion was fast leaving my senses though, as I saw the girls' cuddle together, jumping, exclaiming and near dancing a jig such was the extent of their happiness as we realised we had passed through the castle's gates, leaving a trail of bewildered and impetuous subjects in our dust-raised path.

Jareth screamed and wailed his endearment for his father pitifully ('papa!') as we watched him, ever growing smaller as the doors closed once more, blocking him from sight. I saw him last motioning for his enslaved demons to halt their progress, as he saw that we had passed from his grasp.

We only made our safety thanks to the Queen, who had driven faster than our carriage to the sentry, and taken full authority at that point. I am told she demanded we pass the walls that surround the extremely well defended palace, or castle, the structure is a curious blend of both – most extravagant and possessed of a breathtaking grandeur. There are marble pillars, blooming flowers and fauna scattered everywhere, to give the impression of an artificial summer being held above the place – that is the palace. The castle, despite being coated in a most costly and attractive ivory, is much the same as most over castles, large, imposing and undeniably crude and ugly, despite the afore-mentioned attempts to pretty it.

The Queen made clear her made clear her position, the superiority of herself in nature to the unkempt youth who kept watch over his King's security, and he was fast in calling for the heavy wooden doors to be pulled open for our entry as we made our furious approach.

I have rarely experienced such a feeling of unbridled joy as I did then, stumbling out of our carriages, I joined the girls in a dance, their tears of pure unadulterated joy at their goals having been achieved. All of this was much to the curious glances given us by the host of well ordered and liveried stable hands.

Her majesty's brother has an overall far more efficient, clean and regal kingdom than that of his sister's husband. The courtyard was beautifully kept, all well ordered sawdust, horses well groomed, content and happy in their stables, and a right many of them there were too.

I remember the first thing of any significance I noticed of our surroundings, a little chubby girl, with ample coils of reddish auburn hair neatly arranged atop her head, sat atop a small, yet excessively fatigued pony, with a sharp nosed, forbidding women stood watch over her little charge, glaring directly at me. It appears I am to have a rival in this new home of ours.

I drew an excessively unwilling and impertinent Jareth by the scruff to come and see his little cousin for the first time, and it is thankful that I have built up some muscle over my life-time (for I am by no means a sickly weakling) for he would of most certainly not budged otherwise, indeed I would dare to say he would still be sat there now were it not for my firm grip.

Upon bringing Jareth into sight, several things happened, upon my questioning of what he thought of his cousin, who I now know is one year his senior he said nothing at first, glaring evilly at all, before commenting, 'she is just another girl. I do not wish for another squawking woman, I wish for a strong man, a strong courageous man – papa.'

I was fast to clap my hand over his dirty mouth, as I saw the man who could only be the King approach. It was not his manner or his stance that made clear his position, but his heavy jewel studded crown, that looked as if it irritated him desperately. It was the cumbersome ornament and the way in which the Queen flung herself into his awkward embrace upon his approach, that made his identity clear.

She was soon to return to her own ways of weepiness and subservience to male supremacy upon being brought into contact with such an authority figure as her brother – despite his hesitant actions and clearly apparent shock.

The King of Fjorda is highly reminiscent of Lasander, the same pale gauntness, the nervous ineffectual stutter and the general impression that he is as weak and vulnerable as a flower trapped within the harshness of winter. He does however, lack some of Lasander's less desirable traits, his superiority for example is absent, and he comes across as a most humble and compromising man. The exact opposite of his brother by marriage.

They appear to be extremely close, the King and his sister, retreating soon after our arrival to his private chambers to discuss pressing matters, I am sure the reason for her return to her native land is among the most urgent.

Before this, the King came and kissed each of is turn, the nieces and nephew he has never in his life seen. He spoke a few words to all, polite and comforting despite their awkwardnesses, in acknowledgement of our extended discomfort and peril. He ended his surveillance of us all with Jareth, whom he gingerlly patted on the head, told him of his admiration for his feat of great courage (after having been informed by the Queen of his bravado at the Troll's house.) Jareth, held firmly in place by I, said nothing, just allowing the tears to seep from his eyes unrestrained, uncaring for the display of such weakness.

The King did not thankfully recognise the true cause for the child's worrying discomfort, patting him once more in the condescending manner adults use. The King directed Jareth's non-existent attention to his cousin, who said grinning inanely atop her pony, as if to stimulate kinship between them.

Jareth ran to his room after we were shown were to find it, and that is were he is now, refusing to move himself, for nourishment, for play, or even for his story. I was so hoping to establish some routine upon our arrival, but no such hopes have been able to manifest themselves as of yet, for he remains so cold and isolated, not speaking.

No one seems to care for his state apart from me. I do not think they understand, or even are ware of his melancholy. I don't know what to do with him, I have trouped down to the servant's quarters (relegated to my customary position as I am once more) to beg for some scraps for Jareth and myself, and succeeded in returning to our new home with a laden tray, fruit, bread, preserve – everything you could wish for, all of a far higher quality than what was to be had at the Goblin King's frankly disgraceful castle.

After taking my share, I knocked timidly on Jareth's door, telling him of the food that lies in wait for an eager mouth. Nothing, only the slight muffled sobbing, it is all very sad. The food lies there still, untouched and unwanted, I will have to move it soon, the rat's will take it. He has lost all regard for his physical well being – something must be done, if necessary by force, he cannot remain so.

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Just a little note today, hope you all enjoy it, as always thanks for reviewing, and any reviews are welcome – I love to know what you think! Hopefully there shouldn't be that far to go now, and I can really get to work with other projects, my next main one being Thursday's Child, Sarah first person POV story, that is currently going through extreme editing to remove an excess of OMG mega angst! (sorry, shameless future plug!) 


	13. Chapter 13

_19th Jansplur_

First day, and how tiring! I so anticipated a rest upon arrival, but the old crone witch Queen of a nurse to little Sophia (for that is the King's daughter's given name) ensured it was not to be. She came marching into my room promptly at dawn, literally marching, a tired Sophia in her nightdress, rubbing the sleep from her eyes was trailing behind her.

The witch took a small, curled horn from her tightly fastened belt, and as I stirred myself, having been aware of their arrival, heard it blare it loudly so as to wake Jareth.

It had the desired effect, and it took Jareth not long to storm from his room, incensed in a state of fury. I was much gratified to see him again, he was still dressed in his much dirtied day clothes from the journey of the past days, looked tired and bleary eyed. He immediately began cursing her, for interrupting his much longed for sleep, throwing one of his larger scale tantrums, as Sophia looked on with a curious interest and the unkempt little rascal that is her cousin.

Sophia's nurse, who I have learnt is called Dame Hatchet (a most fitting name), had not time for such shows of passion, and before he could retreat to the solitary sanctuary of his room, she had boxed him on the ears. I immediately protested at such cruelty, but she ignored me, as I rose hurriedly pulling on my frock and roughly combing my hair into place.

Jareth, dazed, and more than slightly shocked, had been sent to the floor, and was rubbing his head gingerly when the haggard harpy roughly grabbed him by the scruff, Sophia being pulled by the hand, and took them both to the bath chamber.

I struggled to keep pace as she smoothly glided along the corridors, Jareth squirming and squealing, Sophia looking at him as if he had three heads! It did not take long for her to venture down the path of fraternal converse, their conversation was most amusing, I will have to record it, it was quite charming, how dumbfounded he was at his cousins pretty words, though such innocent banter was not to be continued thoughout the day :

S: "Do you like horses?"

J: "_What_?"

S: "ponies, stallions, mares, general equestrian pursuits, do you?"

J: "Umm, yes...?"

S: "Jolly good, I am fond of you already little cousin."

She reached out her free hand to pat his wild mane, as if he were a docile little kitten, he made to bite her, with a ferocity rivalling that of any awesome beast, and was only prevented from doing so when Hatchet yanked him back by his collar. She laughed insanely at that, if she were not only five years of age, I would declare her unbalanced for her frenzied conduct.

I soon learnt the drive behind Hatchet's unwavering purpose – to the bath room. She was most forcible, taking both children, scrubbing their teeth till they choked from the foam and the bitter taste of the salt. She then, somehow managed to get them bathed – a miracle! Jareth was absolutely mortified, wandering about in a state of dizzying denial that he had successfully been bathed, groomed and dressed neatly – in knickerbockers of all things!

He clung to me for the rest of the day in his trauma, scared, intimidate by his new surroundings, and more than disconcerted by his exuberant and unceasingly energetic cousin, who seems the near opposite of him in manner and thought. He is not adjusting very well, but still, he has the rest of his life to grow accustomed to his new surroundings.

After this episode, me in a state of amazement at her near effortless success in her control of the children, we deposited them in the care of the extended family for their breakfast. I sneaked a look at the King's face at the table, and he seemed very happy, laughing and joking merrily with his sister and nieces, Olga and Tatyana of whom are only mere years younger than him, are getting along with him like a house on fire.

I learnt the reason for his surplus of his joy when taking my own feed with Hatchet, in the Kitchens, far larger and cleaner than those of the Goblin King – but eerily quite, with only us, and a desperately harried cook present.

I attempted to make general petty talk at first, but she was near unreachable, cold and aloof, more icy than the mountain peaks easily apparent from the window. I tried to speak of anything, everything, my own past, our journey, of my family. I only figured the key after ten cold minutes of stifled unresponsive talk had passed, when I was hit with the inspiration of asking her of her own land, of her master.

I enquired as to where his wife was to found, and at this she gave me a cold, judgemental stare, as if I had just spoken great evil. She immediately launched into a narrative to enlighten me as to the situation into which we had entered as our party. It is very sad, but memorable, so I will recount it here:

She told me of how the King had no wife, she had died, five years ago, in the birth of his child. She herself had came with her charge when the future Queen of Fjorda was but a girl of sixteen, she had loved the child so dearly she had not allowed herself to be separated from her, and volunteered to accompany her to the land of her newly appointed husband.

She told me of how apprehensive both had been, coming from warmer climbs to the South, of how they were wary of everything, their new country, their adopted people – the Queen of her King. But she praised to the skies her bravery, the decorum with which she carried herself – and how it was rewarded by her King's kindness and love.

She went to great lengths to illustrate the depth of their love, of how they were inseparable, did everything together after their marriage held within days of her arrival. I sensed a tone of bitter jealously, resentment even as she spoke of their attachment, of how they rode together each morning, to see the sun rise in the way that young couples do when inspired by such romantic notions. She told me that their passion was so great that they refused to even ride separate steeds, him lifting her up onto his saddle before him, refusing to be parted from her even when riding across the extremely wide and expansive mountain scapes.

It did not take long for her to become with child, a year or so after the wedding, she told me with such utter disdain apparent, of how he had become totally engulfed with his merry, pretty wife. She spoke, the sadness emerging, of how the Queen had loved her riding excessively, and had refused to give it up, even as her belly swelled further, even when she became prone to dizzy spells and weakness, she still continued with her folly.

She spoke on, I could see her old hand with the skin stretched tightly around the clenched knuckles, of how the Queen went riding, seven months into her pregnancy, and she grew faint, lolling back into her husbands arms as the grief stricken man tried to catch her and halt his horse, now driving at a furious pace.

She had fallen from his grip, knocking her head onto the floor, never to regain consciousness. All thought it a miracle that the infant survived, having to be cut from her as her husband sat clinging to her cold pale hand sobbing inconsolably.

She finished peaking saying the King had never truly recovered, he had become a agonizingly lonely, unhappy man. His health further weakened by the loss of his dear wife, when not prone to good health in the first instance due to the outrageously cold climate. He loved his little daughter though, loved her more than words could express, and was extremely sensible in his restrictions of her, of how many times the child had asked to ride a horse, to pet one of the little long-legged foals, and how the King always said no.

She rose from the table at this point, telling me to rise – it was time for mass. It has been so long since I've had a proper mass, not since the midnight service for Scrabbleday, and he gave a good mass, did the Priest in this land of Fjorda. I believe I will like it here, just as I hope that we will bring some joy, some variety to the life of a poor, sickly lonely King.

It was very good mass, a very long one (at four hours), but most satisfying. I watched Jareth throughout, he just sat blankly through it all, the endless buzz of the priest's recital of the Holy texts, as if in blind denial of his change in scenario. I truly believe he never for a moment truly believed we would reach here, never to return, he always yearned for what he thinks of as home, the Goblin Kingdom. But he will have to learn _this _is home now.

The Queen adored it, I could tell by the shine in her eyes, the fervent devotion with which she repeated the lines of the prayers and the soaring tones with which she sang the hymns, the flawless accuracy with which she signed herself with the Holy cross. Something I cannot say the children achieved, the girls were all bewildered by it, hurriedly miming their mother's actions as she crossed herself and bowed her head at the priest's every word. Jareth did not even try, he just scowled at everyone, occasionally chancing awed glances at the beautiful domed roof, fashioned from frosted glass of all colours, through which the sun shines, casting projections of the colour onto the marble floor.

After mass, Hatchet steered me and the children (I often feel like I am one of them – she treats me as such) to the school room. Once more, Jareth just sat through it all, saying nothing, doing nothing, as Hatchet patiently yet firmly covered all range of subjects – languages, arithmetic, grammar and punctuation – far more practical and useful arts to teach a child of the blood than geometry and science – the likes of which I would imagine are still being drilled into poor Lasander back home. But Jareth was tonally unresponsive, his face blank, horribly devoid, and cold, so horribly cold. He lacked any remote trace of emotion, I believe all his tears are spent. I do wish he would cry though, it would be so much more...manageable.

After this, the children had an hour of free time, which was spent in the nursery, for Sophia is not allowed outside to play for fear of her taking it into her horse-obsessed little head to try and mount one of the beasts – for the fear that she too would suffer the same fate as her mother. Sophia's nursery is a beautiful place, decorated as her mother chose before her demise, with rolling hills and galloping horses painted skilfully on the walls, the ceiling painted a dark blue, studded with tiny mirrors in a reflection of the midnight sky.

She also has the most wondrous array of toys. A lovely rocking horse of which was the centrepiece of the room, on which she immediately threw herself astride, telling her mount to 'giddy up horsey!' as she rocked it dangerously. Jareth looking on in puzzlement at such passion being held for a mere plaything.

Jareth told her of his confusion, asking why she did not ride a real pony, at which she scoffed, saying she had been told most clearly that none before the age of one hundred and fifty seven could mount a horse, and she was eagerly awaiting that year with desperation.

Jareth raised a curiously elegant eyebrow at that, giving a merry, if more than slightly sardonic laugh, calling her a fool, saying he had first ridden a pony at the age of three years.

She cast him a glare at that, slowing her carefully rhythmically motioning mount, summoning her nurses aid to be removed from it's high back. She spoke to Jareth quite dangerously telling him that he must be lying, but he laughed at her, with a frightening cruelty, a fool's act, as she hit him with glancing blow on the cheek.

Never have I seen him as shocked or outraged as at that moment, not even upon him sighting his own father's cruelty – because it was done onto him. He cried at the pain, I could see the tears welling up, but he refused to let them run free, instead he threw himself at her, biting and snarling reprimands in a viciousness equalling that of his father. She squealed and recoiled into her nurse's skirts, who gave a look of utter horror at the child's rage, I held him back by the hair him twisting and writhing under my grasp, kicking and biting until he was too tired to continue.

It will come as no surprise I sent him to his room in disgrace, I am refusing him dinner tonight, have explained to the Queen of his naughtiness and she agrees with my chosen path of punishment.

I do not like it sitting here, truly I do not, him kicking and raging repeatedly at the door. It is thankful he is yet so small, it would break beneath his strikes were he but a few years older – his strength his frightening.

He says the most horrible things, is currently screeching as to how his papa will punish us, see us all regret our cruelty, our defiance of him. He speaks as if he were King, not the lesser child of a deranged monarch wielding absolute power over a gaggle of inebriated grotesques.

This child needs to learn his place, I had so hoped he would calm himself today, begin to adjust. But such hopes have reached no form of manifestation and if anything Jareth is worse than before it as if, there is something dangerous in him, something horrible.

* * *

Duh – duh – duh! Drama! Anyway, here's the next chapter, as always I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for your reviews they really give me the motivation to continue, and I will get this finished, I promise! Oh yes, I know a real five year old wouldn't even be aware of the word 'equestrian' but let's say a otherowrldly, horse fixated child is!

Oh yes, sorry the next (and I'm planning on making it final) is taking so long to write, I have started, and it will get posted, it shouldn't be more than a week, I'll have to see if I can find the time.


	14. Chapter 14

_20th Jansplur_

I have never seen such a turn around in a person! It is most astonishing, Jareth awoke at a half past five this morning, shaking me softly to wake me – to sight the sun as he had done throughout our journey.

It was quite touching, as I bleary eyed and fatigued from his endless noisy screeching and wailing the night before, sat perched on the window seat keeping a tight hold onto the child's nightshirt, so he would not fall forward and do himself a harm. He was very attentive to it, loudly shouting out varying details of the spectacle, the swirling colours and the swelling ball of fire that slowly lit the room as it rose. He had to be shushed for my fear he would wake the others – who sleep in the series of rooms situated up the corridor.

Hatchet had a right surprise to see I and Jareth nearly dressed and cleansed upon her arrival – I believe it put her out of her routine, as she muttered lowly for us to wait as she went to prepare Sophia for the day. Sophia recoiled slightly at the sight of her somewhat changeable cousin, I would imagine fearing yet another passionate onslaught, but Jareth was the picture of decorum and manner – taking her hand, kissing it as if both were in attendance for some grand state ball – not being dressed for the day by their nannies!

She was somewhat flattered by this, confused, but flattered, as was apparent by her little blush. Without saying anything, she ran from the room after his display of relative chivalry – children tend to run from what they fail to understand, as do adults, it was remarkable I myself did not flee by applying such logic.

The King was in a most glorious mood at breakfast, had all the servants join the family in the long oak table that stretched throughout the dining hall, so me and Hatchet were strategically positioned next to each other, just after the children in the order of standing. We occasionally shot each other glares at the misconduct of the other's respective charge, for example, Sophia would spill her porridge on the front of her dress, I would give a disapproving cluck – if Jareth happened to knock over his mug of cocoa (entirely without intention, I am sure) she would give a most distasteful smirk and, even chanced to give an evil cackle. It is wrong to wish evil on anyone, but if she happened to meet an unfortunate end underneath one of the ample horses in the stables - I would not weep.

The King, his sister, Olga and Tatyana were giggling together like a gaggle of conspicuous school chums, speaking of all manner of things, even daring ridicule the current fashions at the Sidhe court (which I heard are ample tassels, Gazzlebird feathers and slitted sleeves) – not the most sensible targets for ridicule with Oberon at the helm!

This, as with most topics revolving around events at the Sidhe court, quickly degenerated to gossip on the subject of his, how shall I state this? Tumultuous relationship with his wife, Titania. Apparently, she has taken yet another lover, something Oberon is protesting to, despite him himself having a veritable catalogue of high-born maids to plunder, something he does when not handling affairs of state or making merry with the court.

Apparently, she brought her latest lover into their court on the pretext of his being a distant cousin come to reminiscence on childhood times of innocence, when of course the met was anything but. That Titania is well known for his slyness, and one could say her ingenuity at repeatedly managing to defy her husband's will – they're union is that of constant unceasing battle of wits. The talk of which never ceases to fill the pages of the gutter value journals that are eagerly consumed by the hands of those striving to attain some kind of knowledge of the high courts.

I was shocked when the King turned to me, still laughing, enquiring as to the management and well-being of the children. The Queen gave me a slight knowing look, I could see her pleading with me to withhold knowledge of Jareth's tirade, something he is evidently not aware of. I withhold that knowledge, knowing how it would only do damage, and told him the children were progressing well, and looking on Jareth busily shoving Porridge into his strained mouth, stated he was adjusting to his new role well.

He smiled yet more broadly, giving a loud guffaw as I proceeded to recount Jareth's somewhat...heinous...attitude towards the church, at which the child's face flushed, pushing me with his arm to cease his shame. Despite Jareth's embarrassment, the King, somewhat wickedly, admitted he sometimes found the proceedings somewhat tiresome, but went through them from his duty, a duty adopted at birth – a duty never to be rejected. Sophia spoke at this, declaring 'Papa! You must not laugh so loud, thou will wake the ponies!"

At this, he calmed himself, retaining composure, and returning to matters of some form of seriousness, asking if it would be possible for us to arrange a performance with the children for a procession of dignitaries arriving from various sectors to celebrate his anniversary as King. He suggested something relating to the seasons, and gave me directions to the library, telling me there were ample play scripts to be found there.

To certain people's fortune, there was only a brief hour long service today, and we quickly retreated, all four of us to the library, where as I and Hatchet scoured the shelves for suitable plays to ingrain into the memories of the children (Valeriya, Angelina and Marina are also to join our little cast – to make it remotely substantial!) Jareth and Sophia reconciled the conflict that had arisen the day previous. I couldn't help smiling as I heard Jareth mumble, so I could barely hear, a slight word of apology to his cousin, who immediately threw her arms around him, ordering him to kiss her cheek as show of his thanks. He reluctantly did so, darting his head forward and withdrawing it in a flash, the blush returning once more as she flung herself around him with a great enthusiasm .

Hatchet and I located a suitable subject of study, a play called '_Thee Gloies of the Seesons' _which focuses on various fanciful personifications frolicking about the stage, accompanied by a narrator. We have already managed to draw together a cast list, appointing roles to each child, I will include a copy of our little cast here, so I will ever remember!

Sophia – _Summer_ (Hatchet pressed that her daughter, as the 'highest princess' in participation, should be appointed the most significant role – a fact to which I had eventually to resign myself.)

Jareth – _Winter_ (when not acting as a passionate demon, he can be most haughty, distant even when he wishes it – so he fits the role to a tea.)

Valeriya - _Spring_ (a sweet, delicate child, quite sunny, she is nicknamed 'sunbeam' so once more, is well suited.)

Marina – _Autumn_ (her hair being a tad more auburn than that of her sisters gives her the coppery colour one associates with the season.)

Angelina – _The Winds of Change_ (poor girl. A most insubstantial role, acting merely as narrator, but still, she appeared grateful for what she was given at the first rehearsal.)

The older children will be performing in a more elaborate production, later in the evening, I know not what the subject is yet, though I will strive to find out, as I would love to see it myself, I can picture Maria and Alexandra taking to the stage like Swans to water! I'd imagine it will be one of those detached, noble, forced affairs – the like of which royalty generally excel at performing, though I do hope they will surprise me. There will be quite a competition going on between our little 'team' and the older children – I will put all my energy into ensuring we prevail triumphant, charming the guests, as I am sure will be easy manageable with a host of round cheeked little children at our disposal.

Jareth sincerely impressed me by working extremely hard in his studies, his somewhat shaky literacy and writing are both advancing in leaps and bounds, and he constantly suggests meanings to the curious word forms on the page, and is reading some of Sophia's discarded story books from a year ago. So overall he is making excellent progress, if he is already achieving the level of education expected of one his age, despite his troubles in life.

Hatchet dared embark on a singing lesson as well, an area in which he outstaged Sophia totally and absolutely. He has such a lovely voice, so very pleasant to listen to when he wishes it to be so, though occasionally in merry play he lowers it to sound deep and cumbersome – sending Sophia into a fit of giggles – only to be rewarded by a succession of reprimanding glares from Hatchet. I will have to speak with the Queen over hiring him a professional teacher in the arts of music, I can see he has a natural talent, and it must be nurtured if to be put to good use.

He is displaying particular flair for languages, threw himself into the latest court language (they rotate which language is fashionable to be used at court with each year), which has been designated as Clacian (a bizarre, dead classical tongue.) He spent dinner strutting about the table conversing in it – asking his mother what her name was (one of the simplicities first taught) to which she responded, 'Regina' (she spoke in jest), patting him slightly on the head before he scooted off returning to his place.

He is impressing everyone now, even his sisters are beginning to take a form of interest in him. Maria crying out he was 'such a clever little boy' and attempting to embrace him, to which he wriggled and drew away from – sisterly love is something he is not yet accustomed to, and I doubt he will ever be.

I snatched a sight of him in one of his pensive moods as we were all gathered in the playroom, going through our first rehearsal, Valeriya, Angelina and Marina withdrawing from the safe cocoon of the congregation of sisters to join us, and despite being slightly intimidated by the depth of Sophia's exuberance for her role (at one point she began shrieking "I'm summer!" when Valeriya dared mention his pet name, as if to assert her power, she began flapping her arms wildly, as if to take flight – Hatchet had to restrain her.)

Jareth was sat perched on the window, legs dangling off as he watched the sun slowly set in the distance, his eyes smiling. He was so very content, as if he's safe in some form of knowledge, excuse my fanciful thoughts, but if I dared say it – it's as if he'd waiting for someone. And I know who. At least I can safe in that he is waiting in vain, we are safe now, no harm can possibly come onto us.

Finally took the chance to write home. Poor dears, they must be agonising with the worry! I have tried to explain exactly what has went on, as well as make clear my contentment and happiness, and I how I will return to holiday soon - I asked the Queen and she granted my my leave, once the festivities for the anniversary are over – oh how I await it!

Did some more knitting in the evening, in the playroom as Jareth and Sophia played most amiably together – avoiding the rocking horse that had sparked such animosity between the two the day previous and turning their attentions to Sophia's beautiful dolls house.

Now Jareth, being very much a typical boy child, immediately commandeered the role of the father-doll, marching him throughout the delicately decorated intricate halls of the house knocking over great quantities of the fragile pieces of dolly furniture spread generously throughout. It really is a wonder, better decorated than my own home, and certainly equipped with more rooms! It is so wonderfully detailed – the walls are papered, there are miniature ceramic flowers in the vases, and tiny oils litter the walls – there are even miniature oil lamps that Hatchet will light on special occasions - to tell the truth I would probably be more excited than the children on such an occasion – it is all most thrilling!

Have begun work on Jareth's costume, as Hatchet is also furiously working on Sophia's and the evil hag who takes guardianship over the girlies has been drafted to create costumes for the three youngest princesses of the Goblin realm. The work is coming along well, I am using some lovely floaty gauzy material, a just smashing cold blue colour – it will suit the role just perfectly! Jareth was very difficulty when taking measurements however, insisted on squirming and making a fuss, though it was nothing compared to how he has been in the past.

Finished the day sitting in the rocking chair in the playroom under Hatchet's watchful eyes, as I read to two rapt little children knelt on the monster-skin rug. It was quite a sad story really, _The Girl Who Trod on a Loaf _(a most bizarre title!) literally telling of a foolish little girl called Inge, who grew to be possessed of fanciful ideas above her station, and to avoid muddying her pretty town shoes on a trip to visit her mother – placed a loaf on the puddle in question, and as a consequence descended into the land of Goblins and Elves (painted as somewhat demonic creatures in this tale) where she grew to be exceeding unhappy. Ultimately, she was transformed into a statue in the dark kingdom, but gained redemption, and rose up into the skies as beautiful, sky bird, flying straight into the heart of the sun.

I believe I inspired Hatchet's jealousy at my adeptness at storytelling, as I saw her face as the children clapped their little hands, hopping up and down on their feet begging for more if the same – it was stony, and totally unmoved. Snatching Sophia's hand she led her to her bedroom, as I too put Jareth to bed, he has led a full and happy day – settled to sleep with a smile on his lips, which is always a pleasure to see.

It is my joy to record a sensible hour at which I am to sleep in happiness and security – ten.

* * *

There we are, another chapter done and dusted. Oh yes, either the next chapter or the one after will mark a split in the story, and with that I'm going to take a bit of a time out with this (only for a week or two) as I have other things, and would like to return to my original fiction a bit. Before I have my 'break' though, I will be finishing The Ties That Bind (another chapters been written - but needs to edited and proofed) and when I come back it will be with the much promised and constantly redrafted story.

The story Simplicity's tells the children is once again taken from my book of Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales, and yes, that's it's real title!

As always thank you very, very much for reviewing everyone! This story has went over 50 reviews now which is a huge achievement for me, it's so lovely to know that so many are enjoying it! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

_Editors Note: Please note, that from this point entries become increasingly sporadic. Years will be given to give a sense of the passage of time between entries. The following three entires follow each other consecutively, but after this, entries become rarer. TW._

_27th Jansplur_

I feel truly sinful. For the first time in too many years I have neglected to write an entry – for a week no less! It is however with good reason, the past few days have been so very hectic, just brimming over with action and events, I found my eyes falling tight shut before I could hold them on the page – but still, this will be my redemption. I will have to summarise the basic events, progressions, advancements made – before I forget.

Overall, everything has gone very well, Jareth has just got better and better, is increasingly amiable, and has grown extremely close to his cousin. Just yesterday they were both out in the gardens, and Jareth picked her one of the wild flowers! It was so very sweet, and she giggled inanely before flinging her arms around his neck and dubbing him her steed, where upon they proceeded to gallop and caper merrily throughout the gardens – which are most wonderful. So many flowers and busy insects floating lazily everywhere – far too many to count or even name, many I have never seen, but I recognised some, the beautiful orchids, the roses and the violets were unmistakable. Their scent hung heavy in the air – made me feel quite euphoric. It is as if the garden is one of eternal summer – it is never cold there, the flowers never wither or die and there is always birdsong and chatter in the air – it must be enchanted, it is so very beautiful!

His studies are also coming along magnificently. His faculty for languages has only been proven, and he can now converse in Clacian most coherently, he is also grappling with Elvish, with which he is less clear but slowly picking up – it is a pity he had not been taught it from birth (especially considering the dominance of the tongue in the courts), maybe that business with the poor Elfin child would have been avoided if both were possessed of mutual understanding. He is also starting to learn the traditional language of Fjorda – unsurprisingly known as Fjordian. It is a curious, rambling dialect – sounds more akin to random clucking as opposed to a coherent tongue, but Jareth is most enthusiastic, keeps approaching me with the latest translation he has discovered – though in truth they enter through one ear and immediately depart through the other.

As for the singing – I spoke to the King of it and he directed my attentions to Hatchet, who after much prodding and persuading, suggested a music and dance teacher by the name of Professor Tittyhammer (I had to bite my lip to restrain the laughter at the utter ridiculousness of it!) she saw my trapped smiles and joviality and frowned, declaring he was a most excellent teacher, had taught the Mistress (of course in reference, as always, to the departed Queen of Fjorda) to the heights of skill and she was consequently well renowned for her accomplishment in the arts. I am sure that is no lie – one of the older servants informed me the decorations in the nurseries were directed and executed by only herself and one other.

Professor Tittyhammeer arrived the day after I made my request (having access to advanced means of transportation), he is an upright, proud, distinguished man (probably in defiance of the...simply ludicrous...connotations of his name) and he began his lessons that evening. Obviously, being a towering figure at six feet seven inches (he is rather intimidating, my size three fold) he drafted in Sophia, the closest to Jareth's size, to share his lessons as his dance partner.

It was so lovely to watch them! Jareth has clearly never danced before though Hatchet has informed me Sophia has had some sporadic lessons, during which she proved her skill (it is to her great chagrin that Jareth is so artful in the area of music – and so at all times she attempts to promote her own charge's superiority.)

After the excursions into the area of dance, the tutor progressed to the area of Jareth's true skill – music. He impressed the tutor, when he asked that he sing the first lines to any simple nursery rhyme he knew, Jareth immediately began belting out the following:

_Over the water and over the lea_

_And over the water to Charlie_

_Charlie loves good ale and wine_

_And Charlie loves a good brandy_

_And Charlie loves a pretty girl_

_As sweet as sugar candy!_

He was stopped there, from my fear the rhyme may degenerate further. I ask myself where the child would learn such gutter rhymes and slang – and soon answered my own query. Those troublesome Goblins would always sing in the most horrendous, out of tune pitches whenever they consumed an excess of that vile ale that consistently dripped from the barrels in the throne room. Disgraceful for a child to know such things! They're a terrible nuisance with their bizarre customs and ways these Aboveground folk – who with any decorum would sing of such vices as ale? And girls? Certainly none in our far more civil lands.

However, despite the questionable subject matter of the little ditty of the person of questionable morals known only as 'Charlie', as I have stated – the teacher was most impressed. Looking intrigued, he removed a sheet of music with the words to a longer, infinitely more complex song on it's pages. It was a pretty thing, one of those weepy, melancholy laments, and Jareth handled it most well, singly lowly and with great emotion for just a little boy. Professor Tittyhammer (I could not resist!) whistled lowly in admiration at the recognition of the loveliness of his voice.

Sophia, poor child, felt most segregated from the proceedings and after half and hour sat to the side of the musty, dust-ridden ball room where we had the lesson, and begun speaking loudly. She was understandably scared when the teacher left Jareth's side by the piano on which he was playing accompaniment for Jareth know far more joyful and confident voice (it literally soared, could be heard far and wide – from the village one of the Kitchen maids said!) He spoke most menacingly to her informing her to leave is she could not keep her pretty little mouth tightly shut. She did as she was bidden for the rest of the lesson, dumbstruck that anyone would deny her her freedom of her most grating speech as High Princess of all Fjorda.

Jareth has truly become the man's prodigy, and he is training him relentlessly, it takes two hours a day for his lessons, and it really tires him – but it makes him happy to sing, he has told me so, told me how it allows him to express feelings that would otherwise remain entrapped within him. I have learnt to find what brings him happiness does likewise for me, I have grown so attached to him now – I can hardly imagine life before him, though it is not yet a month ago I was sat at home playing nurse maid to my gaggle of siblings.

Preparations for today's celebrations have been continual through the week. Legions of new staff have been hired, which greatly eases the burden off I and Hatchet for there are now maids to handle the laundry and other such works. We have been keeping the children outside as much as is possible, whilst steering Sophia's attention from the stables with various well clothed excursions to some of the tiny picturesque mountain villages and settlements.

It was a most enlightening experience to visit some of the true folk of this land, most of them are near lacking any worldly goods, but they are content with their lot, and were most kind to us and fussed greatly over the children – especially Sophia as their Crown Princess, offering her flowers, and simple bracelets and pendants fashioned from mountain rock and kneaded string. With her characteristic exuberance, Sophia gladly accepted such tokens, as well as the meagre meals they had to offer us – often flinging her arms about their necks, and blessing them and their kind – a blessing for which the people were near indescribably grateful for. They were moved by her kindness when she would slip one of her own little bracelets from her wrist, worth food for a month for such folk, and press it tightly into their hand.

Jareth remained unaffected by the people, having little understanding of them and why they 'chose' to live in such conditions (he has no understanding of deprivation or poverty – something he needs to be educated of) and his tone and voice reflecting little else than disdain for the backwardness of their homes.

The rehearsals culminated in our performance tonight, the running of which I will inform your pages of later on, first I must finish dealing with the past.

Rehearsals went very, very well. The costumes were completed for proper rehearsals to begin by the third day, and the mistress and the King attended the first, once more held in the ballroom, which was ceaselessly being cleaned, polished and reinvigorated with new life – tapestries, candles, drapes – it all looked absolutely magnificent by the culmination of events.

The children had been drilled by us to learn their lines by rote, and recounted them to their cooing and admiring parents with great accuracy and skill – though their speak lacked any real feeling, or sense of expression at that time. The play is really a thinly veiled metaphor for the changes and conflicts of the seasons, I will summarise the basic plot elements, it is truly most simple.

It begins with winter, lurking and pacing his shadowy icy domain (much praise to the lighting, the effect of the stark lights gave me a fair chill on the night!) muttering to himself of dark things, despair, the death and lamentable scenes that Winter brings unto the earth. He also spent at least five minutes speaking of his detest for all things bright, sunny and beautiful, for example one of the lines spoken by Jareth went as follows:

'Hark! I sight the blinding rays of dastardly summer in the wings! Hear her merry lilting tones enter my ear! I must flee, flee before her light blinds I!'

This was followed by fast scrabbling off the stage as Sophia, accompanied by a basket of rose petals that she threw generously over the stage, as well as Valeriya heralding her presence as the dawn of Spring. They then proceeded to share a pretty conversation, dealing with animals, flowers and all the prettiness and romanticised notions of nature thinkable, once more I will quote a line that truly exemplifies the subject matter:

'The fragrant hours and elves who sleep in the flowers the day and many a nymph who wreath her brow with sedge etc. etc. (it continues like this for sometime)'

After such banter, the lights were dimmed by Josias, one of the King's valet's, who knows of many of the conventions of the stage having hosted some of the productions put on when the King's Queen was yet living.

This would then announce Marina, who entered and settled herself on a tree bough, as the lits were dimmed till only her little darkly held face was apparent. She launched into what is a soliloquy much like Jareth's, though more positive in tone, more emphasising loneliness, misunderstanding and isolation than any great evil such as those lines administered to Jareth. In retrospect I believe the part would have been better suited to Jareth – it is sad to say but many a line was a reflection of what I believe to be his true character, such as this:

'All who detest I do not _truly_ understand. My role is one of necessity, one I never wished or asked to posses, oh how I yearn for the bonds and warmth of friendship and true camaraderie!'

It finished on a happy note, with Summer hearing her calls, and returning onto the stage, once more well and brightly lit, comforting her (delivered with Sophia's trademark exuberance and energy) and presenting her with a flower, a beautiful crimson bloom. It reached it's finale with all smiles and happiness, with Winter learning of the merriment, and shedding his intentions of evil mischief and coming to friendship with the seasons, abandoning his dark ways, and all joining hands and singing a song in celebration of the unity and new found kinship, it went as such:

_Oh Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall,_

_come and join as one and all,_

_know our role must we,_

_so all can live in true harmony!_

On the night of the true performance, the children truly came into their own. They performed once more in the ballroom, but no longer looked on only by loving parents lost in adoration for their young, more surveyed by a sea of stony eyed diplomats, officials and emissaries from neighbouring lands. Despite the huge level of intimidation and indeed pressure to perform their roles well, they exceeded all expectations, performing so wonderfully – it brought a tear to my eye the successive joy and melancholy they communicated in their performances!

I think it largely went down so well as the greater majority of the ministers were accompanied by their wives, or most distastefully, their concubines, most of whom are excessively emotional and had the vapours at regular intervals throughout the proceedings, at the pretty sight of children playing their roles garbed in their beauteous, spangled gowns and robes.

After the performance all the children were sat with then King and the Mistress, with cushions positioned underneath their seats to raise them to the level of the table. I and Hatchet however stood near, keeping an eye on proceedings. Jareth was most jolly throughout, persistently teasing his cousin with good humour over her 'childish performance' and chiding Marina for her persistent air of melancholy, telling her to feel the joy whilst it remained. A strange boy is he...

Some of the most prominent guests and their wives were present, among them was the emissary for the Sidhe court – a certain Robin Goodfellow, referred to by all as 'Puck.' He really teased Jareth, repeatedly calling him 'little boy' and even 'goldilocks' at one point in the most poisonous terms to which Jareth fumed and exuded an aura of silent building rage at what he saw as a mockery.

This Puck is a devil, truly, no maiden is safe with him in sight, he even attempted to woo the Mistress, who had luckily retained enough perception to reject him most strongly. I have no notion why Puck would be so cruel to Jareth, they know not each other, him being nothing more than a minor princeling from a Kingdom renowned for it's backwardness and brutality. I would imagine it is that he takes pleasure in all manifestations of teasing and chiding – something Jareth responds to most passionately.

Jareth looked utterly infuriated when a somewhat large lady took hold of his cheek and pinched it as she cooed and spoke to him as if he were a babe, he reached up his little hand, and removed her persistent grip from his flesh, smoothly informing her 'I do not like being touched in such a manner.' The mistress sighted this, and glared at her son for his impertinence, making polite pretty talk with the lady in question as apology.

The food at the children's table was truly most wonderful. There was a large, thick sickening sugary broth (warming despite it's sickliness) that I believe is the traditional starting dish for the land. This was followed by roasted fowl with honey and rose petals garnishing it – the most wonderful of all however was the dessert. Never have I seen such wonderful things to eat! It nearly all consisted of jellies, beautifully moulded in all shapes – castles, animals, even busts of members of the Imperial family of Fjorda. They were beautifully, strikingly coloured, with strong violent hues of crimson and azure that caught and captured the light – it was a magical effect. The Goblin children were truly enchanted, scarcely daring to deface the beauty until they observed Sophia enthusiastically launch into a strawberry flavoured bust of her own head.

The ball went on long into the night, and I and Hatchet took the children back to the nurseries long before the celebrations truly began. Jareth asked loudly if we could stay up and observe, as we had done before, what seems like an age ago, I told him that was an impossibility with Hatchet observing proceedings with the eye on a worryingly efficient sky hawk. He accepted this with strange submission, settling underneath his covers as I made to extinguish the lamp.

It was weird what he said to me before I left, his voice came through the darkness, truly cut through me – gave me a right shudder! He said the following:

"Think of a good story for tomorrow Nanny, make it your best, make it one to forever remember.'

I departed without a word.

It is odd as I write, I can hear the celebration and joviality in the distant background, the laughter the ladies squeals and cries, the musicians playing merrily and the minstrels softly recounting tales of brave lords and ladies of long ago – but closer by, from the private chambers. I can hear raised voices – maybe the King's? And crying, and pleading – surely not the Queen?

I have no part in this, I shall cease my writing and retire, I am sure all will be well by the morn. Completed today's entry at a quarter to eleven.

* * *

Right, this begins to make the change as I'm sure you can tell if from nothing else apart from Toby's little interruption,.and yes, Jareth's mood swings will be explained imminently! There will be one more chapter before my break, and then as I've mentioned I'll be giving myself a nice time away from deadlines and typing.

Thank you as always to my lovely reviewers, it is very kind of you to keep on reviewing! I hope you like this chapter and I always love to hear what you think – new reviewers and old!

The plot about the play and most of the lines are my own (especially the song – you can tell by how bad it is!) however the one about the Elves and Nymphs is lifted directly from a poem called Ode to Evening I've been studying at school. It's just so silly I had to get a quote in just to exemplify the silliness! And Over the Sea to Charlie is an old Folk ballad, taken from a book of them I have.


	16. Chapter 16

_28th Jansplur_

The shouting continues. The guests for the festivities have departed, leaving the place desolate and forlorn, the only energy arising through passion and hate. All through the chambers, I can hear it now, it's terrible, I'm trying to block it out, but I can't it's everywhere. And the screams, mustn't forget the screams. All us servants of the Old Kingdom and the children are here in the nurseries, twiddling our thumbs, anxiously looking up at the door whenever we hear footsteps. We're herded up like cattle, all I can pray for is that we do not go to the slaughter.

I'm going to need to explain. I wrote of shouting as my entry finished yesterday, and I now know why the shouting was in occurrence. The King, the Goblin King has returned – slipped in unnoticed during the festivities, and is in conference with his Majesty the High King and the Queen – poor girl, all I can hear is her intermittent weeping and pleading as the men try to continue their business despite her hysterics.

I was woken early by Hatchet – looking terribly bedraggled and most unruly, but still the same as ever – calm and coldly efficient.

"Their majesties request to see you, as they do I, leave the children and get dressed, we will return for them in a moment."

I quickly attired myself in the new dress I brought at the market (a most lovely place, well ordered and most amiable – tis a pity I will never have chance to peruse the goods there again) it is blue, fashioned from cotton and very comfortable, which is good for it needs to be – I have the most horrible feeling will will be travelling tomorrow, returning to the dankness and despair of the Goblin Kingdom. It's not the most appealing of prospects.

It was most upsetting to see the Queen weeping uncontrollably as her brother, patted her on the back, awkwardly attempting to comfort her with poorly used words such as 'there, there' and 'hold no fear.' Such words are useless when the fear is inescapable.

I and Hatchet stood intrusively in the threshold to the throne room as we observed the scene, it took a cough and a few not so subtle words to draw them from their focus on each other – it was then that the King turned to me. His face grave, lacking any of the previously apparent joy. I remember my legs quaking, I could fair ascertain that the clamour was audible to all present, as the King spoke the following:

"I am unsure how to soften the blow of what I am to inform you, so will continue without mitigation. The Goblin King, my sister's husband, and is requesting the returned custody of his wife and children. If, if we do not submit to his will – he is threatening invasion, a horribly brutal war."

He glanced up at me as the Queen sobbed yet louder, removing a large floral patterned hankie from some unseen crevice in her gown and blowing her nose nosily, as if a little elephant – it stuck out amongst the deadly chill, the silence.

"I am afraid that you, as you were under his employ, as well as the Stable hands who accompanied your ... escape are amongst those he has requested the return of. There is little in my power I can attempt to do on your behalf, my country is small, mountainous, having access to only the poorest of defences – I cannot risk an invasion by am army as renowned for it's brutality, it's total lack of mercy as that of the Goblin King." The Queen wailed at this point, began interrupting unintelligibly, as the King exhibited the only hint of anger I have ever known him wield, when he sharply, lowly even, informed her to 'Quiet yourself.'

"I am negotiating terms with him, I will do the best I can for you and my nieces and nephew, but I summoned you here as I had to make you aware of the situation I have found myself to be in. The thought of abandoning my kin horrifies me – but my duties and responsibilities as King must take prominece. We pray the King will be merciful, and I plead that you do the same."

"Sir, may I ask ... is the Goblin King in the castle as I speak?"

"Yes, that it why I ask of you that you attend mass with the children, and then return to the East Wing wherein you and the children will be remaining for the day, I am sorry for the restriction, but it is for your own security. My brother by marriage has been known to take to unpredictable moods of passion and fury I would not wish you to witness." _Yes I know all to well of examples of them..._was the only thought I could summon.

After a most subdued and anxious breakfast, where the Queen took all thirteen of her remaining children, clung to them, kissed them over and over again in between her uncontrollable bouts of hysterics, telling them of their father's presence. Although I was at the other end of the hall I could hear Jareth's euphoric whoop of joy at the confirmation of the news, and his mother's fresh rainfall of tears at his unrestrained delight.

We all took ourselves to church, where all where distracted. Olga and Tatayna kept darting their heads to the threshold as if expecting their father to apparate and spirit them away against their loud anguished protests. Maria and Alexandra giggled nervously, as they do when in fear, as Irina led the smaller children and her elder sister Anastasia, in silent solemn prayer. I know all to well what their prayers were for.

Jareth on the other hand was absolutely blissful throughout all. He looked as if it were a second Scrabbleday, or his birthday with him sat on the throne staff in hand been waited on, lavished with love, care, attention and above all else – expensive and lavish presents. He too repeatedly turned his head to the door, but the expression was so smug, so self assured – it is bizarre for such a young child to communicate such feeling.

You could tell the change in him probably most all during the hymns, usually sung with callous indifference, him refusing to utilise his beautiful voice to heighten the atmosphere was sung to the heights of his ability.

It was simply overpowering, he drowned out all the others in the hall, made them seem utterly insignificant in their mundaneity and lack of any true skill. I saw the old priest raise his bushy eyebrows at the din, I could swear his mother looked moved – or scared for exactly where his happiness was sourced from when he had just been informed his tyrannical father had emerged to reclaim him.

After this, I am afraid there is very little to report, as the King had promised we were all confined to the nurseries. I am occupying myself ceaselessly with my knitting to draw my mind from my imprisonment, and the queerness and foreboding of it all, whilst keeping sharp eye on the children. I can't help but feel slightly sorry for Sophia, who remains with Hatchet in the other wing of the castle, kept from her toys and her playmates – she most be positively fuming if I know the girl.

Olga and Tatyana looked on with total and utter disdain as the younger girls, who had not been allowed free reign over them until now shrieked and made merry on the wondrous toys, often fighting and arguments would break out between sisters over who's turn to was to sit astride the back of the beautiful dappled pony.

Of all the older girls, Anastasia was the only one to partake in their games, rocking the horse for her smallest sister, playing games and combing the ringleted hair of Sophia's best Holy Day doll – a lovely think, in a beautiful pearlescent frock with exaggerated puffed sleeves and hair set to the extent of an impossibly beautiful perfection.

Jareth took a vague interest in this doll, it almost draw him from his delirium as he looked on at the beautifully pale face of the dolly, stroking with great care the intricately woven silks and fabrics the gown consisted of.

He asked another of his curious questions over the doll, holding her aloft from his sister, who despite being two years his senior is a small girl and in fact a smidgen shorter, he asked the following:

"Nanny, does such beauty exist in people?"

"That would depend of whether you speak of beauty of the soul or beauty of the face. The latter is commonplace, there is many a beautiful maid in the lands, but to find one with a spirit matching that of her beautifully crafted features – now, that, would be rare."

What was oddest of all was that he gave a little nod, as if he understood, before carefully returning the doll to little Valeriya's custody, where on she took her and carefully with an utter solemnity laid her to rest in the dollies crib (though much to a womanly doll was she for such a place of slumber.)

Before we all attempted to enter a troubled sleep, I read the story, the special story that Jareth had requested I compose the night previous. He knew of what was to descend upon us today, I am sure of it, he had to with his knowing looks and the joviality – it was all because of the misfortune that has now befallen us.

I thought of a story from my own head (I left the storybook in the other wing, tis sad I will never see it's well thumbed pages again), tried very hard to make it as uplifting, inspiring and triumphant as I could manage, so I told them the following, utilising the dolly who stirred such interest as my puppet to play out the scenes:

"Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful, yet impoverish princess of a somewhat dull and uninspiring land. Now this girl was not a bad child, but prone to spells of selfishness and passion, and so on one night, she grew tired of the attention lavished on her infant brother, the heir, and fled to the woods. Now, this girl was somewhat vacuous, and in her idiocy wished that she would be rescued from her humdrum existence by any King who happened to be passing. It was to her misfortune that the King passing was not a good soul, no he was something of a twisted melancholy figure, spent long spells loneliness and desolation – though he would of been pleasured by the company of another.

Now, he was struck by the attentions of such a maiden, for she was indeed beautiful, and immediately granted her request, spiriting her away to his castle with the intention of marriage to alleviate his loneliness. Now, the girl was deeply distressed at having been plucked from her family, and although the King was not a good man, he was not wholly evil, and granted her three years in which to source love from another. And if she found better company in one of his subjects (creatures of malformed disposition) she was welcome to wed one of the monstrosities instead.

After a weepy three years began to draw to their close, she grew desperate, heart aching and weeping as she was constantly reminded of her forthcoming marriage by her betrothed. He grew to love her, love her deeply more than he ever thought possible, every motion and movement of her delighted him, she could only please him despite her gloominess and general despair.

On the final day, her father, the father who she thought had never loved her, rode into the Kingdom, shouting a loud booming call, calling for his lost daughter.

The princess screamed and wailed as she heard her father's calls, being restrained by the King, himself in turmoil for putting the one he had grown to love through such pain, she pleaded with him, succumbed to her knees, begging his mercy. As the clock drew seconds away from the final hour – he kissed her atop her pretty head, telling her she had given him something precious, had made him happy for three blissful years, and he would reward her with her freedom. For you see, he had learned that love can entail letting go."

The intention of my tale was totally lost on Jareth, scorning the King who had grown to love the girl, declaring, "what a fool he must have been to let one he grew so very attached to run free. I would never be such a fool."

I am thankful that I was able to take the time to send my family a letter two days previous, they know of what is, for the moment at least, my current position. I do miss them so, if I do anything else with my life other than existing to protect the queer child known only as Jareth, Goblin Prince before me, it will be that I see my family for one final time.

The camp beds usually used for guests have been moved here for the time being, and some of the girls are beginning to settle to sleep – which is good for I have a horrible feeling they will need it. Jareth is sat by the door – watching and waiting tirelessly.

_29th Jansplur_

I am possessed of a horrible foreboding that this may be the last entry I write. The change of circumstance has been near total. I am so _scared_, for we are returning now, _he_ has won, we all tried and worked so very hard to archive our freedom, but everything, all our gains have been lost – and yet more above them.

I, Hoggle and the stable boy (who's name is Puggins, there is enough time to brood in to ask such things) are locked in a curtained carriage. It is new, you can tell from the smell of varnish and upholstery, it is far too rich for ones of our low standing. We feel awkward, out of place, this is the carriage that the children should be riding in, but the last sight I had of them was entering a rickety, dilapidated pony trap, all twelve of the girls crammed in, for Jareth rode atop the master's stallion with his father, a triumphant smile decorating his features as he watched our gloomy progress – he is truly his father's son.

Our passage consists only of intense pressured silences as no one knows what to say, we may die tomorrow for all we know, this may well be my last will and testament, but it would be totally unknowing. It is a horrible lost feeling.

I will quickly summarise the days' events, though I will attempt to keep it short for remembering the place we have been snatched from is quite simply torturous.

We were woken at five in the morning, by a sharp hurried knock at the door – it was the Queen, she ran in literally bolted to her children, flinging her arms around Anastasia and speaking nonsensically, desperately in a frenzy darting from child to child, even the stoic and solemn Olga, smothering them with kisses. She tried to kiss Jareth, who for the only time I have ever seen returned other affection, kissing her gently and carefully on her unmasked cheek, pressing his little hands onto her back, as if to gain a true sense of her dimensions – he will need to get a good sense for he will never see her again.

We soon learned the reason for her frenzied hysterics, the Goblin King strode in, confident and terribly proud in his victory, snatching hold of his wife's arm squeezing it till she gave a strangled scream dragging her kicking, biting squawking to the door, as the High King looked on awkwardly from the doorway – he looked ashamed and rightly so.

I overheard what he said to the Queen as she wrenched one final look at her children, he locked his arms in her's to put a stop to her ceaseless struggling though he could not smother her wails and screams, he said the following, "say goodbye to your children my sweetheart." She screamed louder than any tortured repenting soul in Hell at his words as he hauled her away, saying one final word to his wife's brother as he left with her for some unknown torture, "keep her from my children, Arden, lest you pay the price – the price you well know." He then swept away, his crying rage ridden wife being dragged behind him.

Jareth looked happy then, very serene, and turned to his sisters, clapping his hands together to draw their attention and announced the following, "we will be leaving. Papa will return for us soon, we should all pack our bags."

They all stared at him as if he were a madmen, and Valeriya began crying, asking what was happening to her mama, being followed by all the other small girls, Angelina, Marina, Nina and Xenia, in her outburst. Olga was the only one to speak, asking, quietly, sounding tentative, unsure, scared even, as she asked him 'but how would you know...?'

"Papa told me, told me how happy he was to have us back, how he will never let us leave him again." The room fell silent at his solemnity – for we knew he spoke the truth.

We did pack, we did not want to leave our possessions behind for we feared we will never set foot in the castle again to reclaim them. We spent hours waiting, servants bringing up breakfast that was barely touched and Jareth being the only one to eat with any enthusiasm or vigour.

At midday the Goblin King returned, this time alone excepting the Hugh King, who entered first, mumbling, making constant ineffectual apology for the inevitable.

"You're, you're father has returned, to take you home, to the Goblin Kingdom ... it has been negotiated that you will spend the summer with your father, and the winter here, with I your uncle and your cousin." It was Irina who spoke of the absent person in the converse, quietly, eyes lowered asking:

"What of mama?" The High King made to speak but before he could the Goblin King had moved, without motion, to behind his middle child, his hands placed heavy on her little quivering shoulders as he spoke.

"You shall not see your mama again. She is deranged. A madwoman, she will remain with your uncle for now, and will return with me for her redemption in the autumn."

He appeared to take account of the fact Marina burst into inconsolable tears at his words, turning to her, "do not fear child. You will never be subject to her cruelty again, but you will learn to live with my mercy. All of you, twas wrong for you to leave the father who brought your pretty dresses and sparkling jewels, and you will learn to respect I who rules you. Rules you all, you may be in my Kingdom for but a half of the year, but you will forever be my subjects." He beckoned for all to follow his lead, and we did into the stable yard to enter the carriages that jolt along the path now, leaving the High King forlorn and alone in our wake.

I have known cruelty, yes much cruelty, but never cruelty to the extent that a mother is kept from her children. For he will keep to his word I am sure of it, his vow will be unbreaking and his children can never escape him or his influence despite how far they run or how many years pass to dust.

It is all too sad, I can write no longer, I may return but only to record hope, for in the darkest of days there will always be hope, no matter how small or faint it may be.

I swear on my ma's grave I will write again. It is my promise.

* * *

Hallelujah! The break has been achieved, sorry to cram so much in, and I know it's probably a bit of an unexpected change in mood and direction, and as Simplicity says, I will continue but the entries will take place over the remaining years until our one and only Jareth becomes Goblin King.

Thank you very much for my reviewers for the last chapter, it would be great if those reading but don't review have anything to say, as it is very motivational to get writing again after I've giving my muse a holiday (it's filing a complaint for over-exertion.)

Oh yes, the tale is made by yours truly, obviously borrowing heavily from the film (it is very intentional) and probably subconsciously other fairy stories.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and keep checking because I will write again within a week or two. Hope you like this chapter and the next chapter of the Ties That Bind will be going up in days (sorry for the delay!)


	17. Chapter 17

_12th Jun _the same year as previous entries. Jareth is five.

I write. For there is hope.

First, I will briefly entertain mine and the household's position for the past five months. It has been a slow, agonising torture that the Demon King of the Goblins has subjected all to. Even his own, which is perhaps the most shocking of all.

I am no longer present as nursery maid to a small child. I am treated as if a dog by the master, to be kicked and ordered on impossible tasks without mercy. I rarely see the child any more, though every time I do he scares me more.

I wake at five in the morn, aid Cook with the breakfast, serve a thick bitty broth to the girls, who wake at six (for though are now as much servants as I – if not slaves.) When the King hollers down complaining of hunger, it is I who face him as he lies sprawled in bed, often with some harlot or the like entwined within his covers. I do not serve Jareth's food. The King has seen to it that we are kept apart at all hours, though I attempt to defy this most cruel of rulings. He sees his son as having no need for women folk, says they make a boy soft, weak – boys need male guidance to define character. What drivel.

After this, I systematically clean the castle. Scrub the flag stones till my hands bleed from the effort, dust the flaking faded portraits in the dust infested halls, charge around the castle with broom in hand. Only to see my labour rendered useless by the Goblins, who take great delight in destroying any evidence of my handiwork. The King knows of this. He delights of it.

I would not stay here if I had a choice, there remains no reason in it. The child has wandered too far from my influence, I fear even when he returns to his Uncle in the fall little can be done to redeem him. I will remain with the family. I have grown so attached to the girls, and long to comfort that poor little child who lingers sad eyed – lost and lonely at the foot of the throne.

The King holds me in utter contempt. Blames me for his sons' relative delicacy and thoughtfulness. He blames my stories and my tales, the child hears no stories any more. It is fortune he knows not of the small skills Jareth has learned, he would be infuriated, as it is his intention to coach him in the magical practices his elder son and heir seems incapable of comprehending. He would be enraged at the thought of a mere women holding the capability to educate a child, and would be mystified at the concept of him teaching himself.

He is five years of age now, his birthday having passed heralded my many lavish gifts from his father and no other in the spring. His mother attempted to send the child a comforting, loving, letter and a hamper of sweetmeats and cakes as gifts. These were taken by the King, his son left with no knowledge of them. I watched as he tore the carefully prepared foods and lazily tossed them to his miserable swarm of Goblin subjects.

I saw, but am unable to tell the child of what became of the remnants of his mother's love. The King, though he gives an air of holding little awareness of my presence, is possessed of an opposite state. He does all in his power to make my life a misery, whilst retaining me in his employ. He revels, basks in my torment.

I have outlined in my mind what I must do. When we return to the King of Fjorda, I will accompany the children. I do not know if it is his intention to allow me this, but I am leaving with them. And I will remain. Half a year to salvage any sense of justice or goodness in that child is preferable to no time at all coupled with a life of utter despondency.

For you see, he knew, he knew all too well his father was approaching. It excited him at the time, he saw his father as a noble marauding adventurer come to share his life of pleasure and thrill with his little child.

He is growing stranger still from his father's treatment of him. He sees precious few, excepting his sister Olga, the reason in which I will explain later. His father's constant succession of mistresses who change with the week, who pet him and coddle him in a poor mimic of motherly affection until the King tires of the child and his role as favourite with the ladies of his court, reclaiming their affection for his benefit and pleasure alone.

He has no contact with other children, is forcibly kept from most of his sisters and is not even allowed to be in the company of his Goblin playmates. It is all so sad. He sits alone for hours on end in the nursery, miserably scrawling words to stories with perfect fairytale endings contained of love and joy. He also writes little poems. I have found some tossed into the waste pit before now (when I was clearing the foul place) and this is a fine example of the type of writing he produces:

_Mama dislikes Papa_

_I do not know what could make me sadder._

_Why cannot all be friends?_

_That is the way all should end._

As I have said, all most sad.

He is desperately lonely. Sometimes I overhear him muttering to himself, attempting to sing before his father screeches for him to quiet the din. He takes pleasure in the company of others, when he is possessed of the correct frame of mind and he is deprived of any such conduct.

He meets his father for luncheon, dinner and a ride over the hills beyond the castle each day excepting Sunday – his riding is one of his sole pleasures. The rest of his time is commanded by his father's old tutor as a boy. An Elf, who I am told is of some great standing at the Elfin court but was compelled to return to the services of an old master upon hearing of the large monetary benefits of working in the employ of the Goblin King.

The man is a monster. Clever, cold and calculating. He is tall, as these Elves are and terrifies me whenever I pass him on the way to commit some task or other. He is imposing and is possessed of a deep commanding voice that one can hear at the other end of the castle, he shouts at Jareth often, orders him to raise his head from the clouds and fantasies from which he immerses himself in in his solitude.

What is most evil of him though is his attention to the girls. The daughters of the King, are largely blessed with their mothers fairness of face and Olga in particular has captured his attentions – she has been forced into my old role as Nurse by her father, and resentfully ensures he is fed and clothed with each day. I have seen the looks he gives her as she waits of her small brother, and the sharp eyes of bitter disdain she returns him.

The King does nothing to punish such shocking misconduct. He cares not for his daughters or there welfare. To him they hardly exist beyond figures reliant on his mercy and provisions.

The girls themselves are utterly devastated, broken by their experiences. Valeriya and the youngest girls were totally unaccepting at first, spending night weeping on the cold hard beds that have replaced their previously occupied comfortable instruments of rest. But they have grown some kind of rigid acceptance of their situation.

He has taken all their toys away, the youngest girls have nothing to occupy them except endless weaving, even tiny Valeriya, who is only six. That and the endless regime of work he sets them, life follows a carefully established, rigid monotony here now,.

The others have accepted in various ways. Irina is the most practical, she carries out the chores assigned to her with the minimum of fuss, she helps me wash the flagstone floors of the throne room, dressed in her little brown frock and apron. Her pleasure now is derived from sneaking into the sanctuary of the library, taking her little stub of a beside candle to pore over stories of Kings and Queens, epic romance and the like. Poor little girl, her life only holds any worthwhile existence in her dreams and fleeting fantasies.

It will also be worthwhile to record what little I know of the heir, Lasander. I have not spoken to him since our return. I have however spied him occasionally in the corridors as I go about my work, he has always appeared sickly to me, but is now almost deathly in appearance. His skin is frighteningly white. He never goes outside, even as heir he is allocated no more freedom than his poor sisters. He sees only his tutors, and even in certain evenings his father – who hates the quivering, delicate boy who cowers in terror before him.

Maria and Alexandra, who have been assigned to work in the Kitchens (despite being entirely incapable of creating any edible substance) have formed some kind of coalition against their father. At first, they simply refused to carry out the takes their father assigned to them upon our return. They soon learned the futility of such defiance, a day cleaning out the throne room led to them seeking his mercy with speed.

It is Tatyana's task to act as scribe for the King's various decrees and letters. He has grown lazy in his glory, spends all his time with his mistresses, or riding. He thrives when challengers to the Labyrinth emerge, it allows him to assert the spectacular heights of cruelty he is capable of embodying.

Tatyana and Olga, for lack of a better term, have grown depressed. Deeply so. They are showing similarity to their brother in that both write poetry if they can snatch an hour of free time. However, unlike their brother, both are extremely self absorbed, most self pitying. Here is one of Olga's abandoned attempts. Clearing the refuse pile has it's benefits:

_Oh Woe be I!_

_The shackles of this life, may God giving,_

_Not transcend the next!_

_The endless futility of despair!_

_The searing pain of lamenting for what is lost!_

This piece continues in such a way for some time. It is truly not of benefit to transcribe the whole piece, and even despite it's extended length (it covers four lengths of parchment) it remains incomplete.

However, despite such shows of wanton emotion, I have grown to know Olga in our shared servitude. Before she was aloof and cold, but in her severe reduction of station, she has grown some bizarre, awkwardly placed bond with me. The pieces she is content with (of which above is not an example) she will pass to me to give my frank, honest opinions (that is when I have precious free time at my disposal), and she does not descend to anger when I dare criticise, although I see her cringe slightly as I make comment, she will nod her head and not my advice.

The last pair I will write of are Alyss and Anastasia, who have grown closer than ever before. They performed their tasks together, chatted as merrily as they could mange when their father was away, and both would look longingly towards the sun outside the window, never failing to be awe struck by it's power and all affecting influence. No more though, today Anastasia was married.

It is this event that has spurred me to write, and of more importance given me opportunity to do so. I take my rest on a pile of ragged sacks in the kitchens, and am constantly accompanied by the rats and the various kitchen staff, of whom there are only two. But nevertheless, there is no privacy, and whilst the drunken revelry at the union continues, I seize the day to write.

Her mother wrote, he summoned me to the throne room, as a red haired girl with a large heaving bosom sat in his lap lost in adoration for the devil fawned ceaselessly over him. He must wield powerful magic indeed, to make them so mindlessly yielding and adoring towards him. He read the letter to me, in mocking condescending terms that ridiculed his wife's heartfelt desire to see her daughter's marriage ceremony.

He then gestured to a small Goblin, one recently turned into one of the little imbeciles from a bonny human babe, and fed him the parchment, which the creature ate mindlessly, near choking on the messy pulp.

I tell the children nothing of their mother's attempts at communication, and nor will I until I am out of his reach and can make them swear they will not inform the King of what he would surely term my 'treachery.' I will make up for my deceit, I truly will, but to inform the girls, and especially little Jareth of their mother's attempts at communication that their father taunts me with the knowledge of so would surely be my downfall.

Moving on to the wedding, the King displayed some leniency towards Anastasia due to her impending marriage.

Her fiancée arrived three days before the wedding, so as to grow familiar with his bride. For all he knew of her was gained from a short, strained dance and a succession of portraits he has been supplied with of the girl. When he arrived with his fine carriages and entourage, Anastasia had been moved back to her old room, and returned all the possessions that had been taken from her, as well as provided with new ones.

I was assigned as a temporary ladies maid to the girl (none of her sisters could fulfil this task, as the King has went to great lengths to ensure they do not re-enter their chambers), helped her sort through the alien contents of her trousseau, that had been left carelessly on her dust ridden bed when she re-entered for the first time in what seems like endless dark, misery ridden months.

Her trousseau is beautiful. If he posses nothing else worthwhile he has taste for fashion. The gown is new, very attractive and delicate, it's small size fits her perfectly, and the whole ensemble acts only to reinforce her frail, earnest innocence. Her veil is not her own, it belonged to her grandmother originally, and has been worn by all the Brides in the direct line since. It is yellowed, ridiculously overdone and dwarfs the poor child – she could hardly see. She held up the lingerie with extreme apprehension, confusion even on her face, displaying a total lack of understanding for it's purpose. Poor dear. I had not the heart to explain, it is the place of mothers to explain such things – not I.

Her father has also given her ample jewels from the treasury, that is filled to bursting with the most wonderful jewels – tis a pity there is no one with reason to wear them here in regualrity. They are nearly all rubies and sapphires, very dark blue, they glint and catch the light prettily, and add a certain ethereal glamour to her weak childishness.

It is not for her personal benefit of course. All is only done to project a false image of a doting and benevolent father.

Her fiancée has potential to do good by her, despite a tendency towards smugness and a roving eye, he appears to be, at least fond of the girl, and taken by her prettiness. He also likes the fact that she is short. Very. That is to say comparatively, she comes up to his chest as he is well over six feet in height. These Elfin men are proud of their heights, like to marry outside their own kind and take brides who never cease to be awed and quieted by their, quite literal, high standing.

They took walks around the garden, with me following as a hurriedly assigned chaperone, attempting to keep pace as they strode about the various weird, ever changing and shifting gardens that run alongside the hedge Maze contained within the Labyrinth. They very nearly slipped into the structure, probably for some lover's business no doubt, but I coughed, extremely prominently and they, somewhat reluctantly retuned to my watchful eye.

She seems top of regained some of the traces of character that were took from her – she was thoroughly broken by her experiences. It was a pleasure to see her smile as she walks about in her pretty, newly made sweeping gowns in the arm of her now-husband. She has began speaking in polite converse again, impressive, considering the past months have been spent in quiet, melancholy servitude.

The day before the wedding, the King summoned her and in a pretence of generosity, offered her a gift of her choice. She lowered her head for a few seconds, thoughtfully considering what she would dare to request and then raised her head, saying:

"Allow Valeriya back her doll, father. That is all I will ask of you. I myself need nothing, but I ask you to display some sense of pity towards your little child. Do you truly wish for a throng of daughters who despise you father?"

With that, she swept away, the slightest of smiles on her little rosy face. She went to meet with her fiancée, who was waiting dutifully for a walk in the grounds. She knew she was safe you see, he dared not reprimand her for her veiled scorn and disgust – he knew it would not do well for his daughter's hatred to extend to her husband.

The King kept his word. The doll was returned, Valeriya's joy was indescribable as Anastasia handed the pretty creature for the child to coo over and cradle in her arms.

She married this afternoon. The ceremony lasted four hours, it included a variety of religious services, confirming the girl in the highly complex faith of the Elfin Land she is to know as her own. She looked very hot, and somewhat pained by the weight of the jewels encasing her neck and the heavy bridal crown encrusted with rubies as big as bird's eggs and sapphires as large as child's eyes.

But she was brave, and she persisted and made it through till the end where she and her husband kissed lovingly. She looked very pale, almost in shock that the so often feared future had manifested itself. But she is hopeful, hopeful for a future freed of twisted control and deprivation. I hold hope for her too.

I stood throughout the service, and had a good view of the front pew that had been hurriedly established in the Great Gall for the service. I observed Jareth throughout the ceremony. Largely his face was a picture of childish boredom, frustration at an inability to escape and do as he pleased, but sometimes I caught a wrinkle of his little fair brow, a strange look in his eyes that held a semblance of understanding. I like to think of it as pity for a sister he is unlikely to ever see again.

* * *

First of all, huge apologies for the time it's taken to get this up. One thing's followed another and I've had so much to do, but I'm back (accompanied with inspirational Muse in gear) and regular updates should be back! Thank you for your patience.

I had a lot to cram in in this chapter, and it's generally summarising what's happened to them all and just what a twisted controlling father the Goblin kid's have. He's playing mind games with them all, mainly the girls and Simplicity. Jareth is seen as being under his father's thumb and Lasander is utterly terrified of him so they get off relatively lightly. Life isn't great for them at the mo, but don't worry, it'll improve.

_Thursday's Child_ is finally ready to go, and I will be uploading it on Monday.

I really hope the wait was worthwhile for this chapter, please review and let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

_43__rd__ Marish_ The next year. Jareth is five, nearing six. The entry is being written from the main castle in Fjorda.

There is much to report, though I will attempt to be as succinct as possible.

The children and I have been residing in the central castle of Fjorda for the majority of winter and the commencement of the spring (at the beginning of Marish we relocated to the larger residence, a castle situated within a large, rambling estate – it is all just beautiful, so very picturesque, and you can detect the warmth returning to the air.) I did so think I had made progress in drawing them away from their father's control, that is with the little ones, for the elder children are possessed of enough perception to recognise the evil beyond a seductive façade of generosity and kindliness.

We all had such lovely fun upon our return, we could do as we pleased, me and the children. The King was near heartbroken from the decision he had to make, poor soul, he is pathetically weak, dares not to question or confront. He always runs away. Silly man. He did however do all in his power to make us welcome and comfortable – even I now live in a manner more fit for a Queen! I have my own room, a bed four times too large for I, and even was provided with _new_ dresses (my favourite is in blue silk – just lovely! It is all quite a novelty), it was most exciting. I wrote many letters home telling of how kindly I was treated in contrast to the abuse sustained under the Goblin King.

Jareth and Sophia had great fun romping about together during his stay. He was distressed at first, for the separation from all that he had grown re-accustomed to, but he is adaptable and soon adjusted to life in the merry land I live now, growing closer to his cousin than before. We had many adventures, exploring the local hamlets and settlements that litter the surrounding vicinity, the moorlands and the expansive castle grounds as we had down in the brief time of our stay before those anguished troubles commenced. I must say however, it worries me how he showed no shame or regret over his folly in trusting his father and his intention in reacquiring his children for their welfare. I do not think he understands, nor the younger children. If anything, their undeserved trust is strongly exhibited in the letters they've sent me.

There was much sadness and weeping when it came for them to leave, but from the letters they have sent me I can gather that they are treated to a far, far better degree than they were before. Though Olga is still employed as a carer to Jareth, something with which she is deeply unhappy.

I remain here, although the children had to return to their father. I gather from the letters he has made no note of my disappearance, something for which I am deeply grateful, for now I am returned some semblance of freedom.

I remain to help care for Sophia, as Hatchet is ageing, no longer capable of chasing after the child on her rambles and frenzied attempts to invade the stables, I may be small of stature, but I am swift of step and able to exercise some sense of control over the naughty little girl. Sophia tumbled over by a stile just before the children departed, they all fussed greatly over the poor little girl, she has her leg all bandaged for it is bruised and broken. Her father was fair distressed at the sight of the poor lamb's fragility, but she is growing better, and he too is recovering his composure.

It is not bad work, but I cannot help but to think of poor little Jareth and his sisters, though more of little Jareth. He _needs_ me, needs a good strong guiding hand to see him on the path to right, but I can do nothing for him when he lives under his father's rule. I am powerless.

The Queen returned yesterday. She is silent, spoke to no one, and is even ignoring her brother. Her punishment under her husband is not worth imagining, the beast is so cruel, utterly ruthless – he is capable of anything. I must take her her children's letter when I finish copying them, she would be greatly gratified to see they recall her fondly – I am certain it would lift her spirits. Though I may need to be selective in my choice of letters, some are somewhat critical of the poor woman.

The children left the King of Fjorda's castle a week hence, I made Olga vow to write to me of their circumstances as soon as it was safe to do so, this morn, the following letter arrived with my name of the slip:

_Dearest Simplicity_

_I promised you a letter upon arrival to inform you of our conditions, and I will not have it spoken that I, Olga, High Princess of the Goblin Realm, does not keep to her word._

_Father is far better than he was before. We have been returned our rooms and possessions, the smaller children's faces positively lit up at the sight of the dust ridden toys and sheets that lay pulled back as they would of done when he attempted escape in our folly._

_The brat of a brother is such a nuisance. He squirmed and writhed throughout the entire journey, constantly asking me such bizarre questions to which I had no answer. You were too soft on him Simplicity, he speaks of such silly curious things. Take our journey for example, we passed some slaves, and he asked 'why' they were so very melancholy. 'Why!' Can you imagine a child of his years even comprehending the circumstances that relegates such people to so low a position? I did not humour him with a response, I would of thought the main reason was obvious, even to the smallest child._

_Father is also no longer treating us as if we are down trodden slaves, which is some relief. I am however still assigned to 'His Utter Naughtiness' my brother. I have no idea how you coped when he was barely with his tutor, it is to my fortune the lecherous old beast occupies his attentions for the greater degree of the day – as well as Jareth occupying those of the fiend himself with his tricks and ways._

_The food is better than before, it is nearly always chicken. Chicken soup, chicken broth, chicken leg etc. etc. It is somewhat repetitive though preferable to the slop we were served before. Father is never present when we dine (we have been returned possession of the great hall) some of his ladies are sometimes present in his stead. I see to it to make them as uncomfortable and lowly as is possible. Such women need to know their place, there can be no more degrading position for a female than as a mere plaything, prettied for male amusement and pleasure. Though I guess that, is too, the lot of a wife. Still, it is not right for ladies to conduct themselves with so little decorum, and it is that of which I make them aware._

_All are well, Marina and Irina have colds (exposure from the long journey) but Maria and Alexandra are fussing over them constantly, so I am sure they will be well soon. Alyss is slightly melancholy that sister Anastasia is no longer there to alleviate her loneliness, she does not leave her rooms often, though all else are in far higher spirits than before. On the subject of Anastasia, she has sent us a letter. She says she is well, and happy, I am happy for her happiness though it does not suppress the desire her happiness could be our own. She did however refer to the court as 'beasts' I believe they are being somewhat judgemental of our ways and manner. I have already written in response that she is a daughter of a ruling house, should be expected to answer to no scheming, lowly courtiers whose business it is to deal in vicious lies and rumour._

_The weather is improving, the chill is beginning to leave the air, and the rain is moving to other ground, I believe it will be a pleasant summer, I'll have to take the brat out and release him into the wilds. If my fortune is present he may not return._

_How are you all in Fjorda? Is Sophia's leg better? Father has not mentioned you, and does not appear to have noted your absence, or even your existence, so I believe he will let you be. It is a pity we cannot do the same, for if we left I have a notion he would take notice._

_The others have various messages to send you, and all have been enclosed – such silly trifles they write of!_

_Please send mama my sincerest love._

_Olga_

_P.S. Please will you annotate my newest work, I call it 'Dull spring of summer,' I believe it to be a nice piece, but do not trust my own judgement until I have reference to your own. _

_P.S.S. Respond at the first available opportunity, as I had the manner to write to you at my earliest convenience._

I have taken a brief glance at the piece, she really must be more inventive in her subjects – if I read another on the seasons I will curse them all to the bowels of hell, for ever placing the inspiration in the girl's head!

I shall also include the letters of the other children, even Jareth managed to scrawl a note, bless him! Only Alyss and Lasander did not partake. I do not need to muse over why the latter did not partake in the commerce.

Here is Tatyana's letter. She is so very serious, takes after her father in his moods of brooding:

_Simplicity_

_Olga told me it would be pleasant to write to you. So I do. I never knew you well when you were present, and know you less well now, but should you so wish, respond and speak of yourself, your family, your aspirations, your fears. It may be amusing._

_Tell mama that it would be preferable to be in possession of her company as opposed to father's. Though it is admit table he is better in disposition than before._

_Tatyana_

And Maria's and Alexandra's, one would think they were the same girl!

_Darling Simplicity_

_Many hugs and kisses from the other side. We wish you well, for we both feel smashing, unlike poor Marina and Irina (did Olga tell you they are ill? Poor creatures! We are being kind to them.) Father is being lovely to us now, is even letting us ride our ponies once more. Maria's is called Sunflower and mine is known only Sweetpea – do you like those names? We do, very much!_

_Mashka is demanding that you send wishes of deepest compassion to Philipe, you know who he is? The tall, blond boy in the stables. He told us we were amiable! On second thoughts, send him the wishes of both of us, if possible placing more emphasis on my own names as opposed to Maria's._

_Do you remember how we would all sit down and sew? And have picnics in those lovely woods and forest glades? I liked that very much! I am better now than back then however, am sewing a little cloak for Jareth – father will not buy him another for the expense. Though he holds no qualms over showering his ladies with the most wonderful jewels you can imagine – oh how I would love to sample some of the pieces I see him set around their fine swan necks!_

_Send mama our deepest love and heartfelt kisses. Say her girlies all love her._

_Yours_

_Maria and Alexandra (I wrote it, Mashka is being a lazy pig, reading a charming romance aloud whilst lounging on her bed and stuffing herself with fine chocolate sent by dear Anastasia!)_

Whilst their choice of names for their respective steeds appear to be highly demeaning, I will not hold it against them. Here is something charming over the youthful exuberance and energy their letter emanates. It goes a way towards raising one's spirits.

Alyss did not write, I believe it is because she is unhappy for the departure of Anastasia from her routine. Poor love!

And Xenia, on behalf of her and all her poor younger sisters, as well as Irina:

_Dear Simplicity_

_You were very nice and helpful to us all throughout, so i thought it nice to write. Are you well? All us here do very much hope so._

_Father has given us our rooms back which is most generous of him. He has ladies to dinner, they are sweet and wear pretty dresses and rings. Olga does not like them. Olga is not very nice, though do not inform her of this please, the swine would be sure to whack me one._

_I never see brother Lasander. He is learning how to be a true prince. I would like to though, he would tell us stories of science, and speak in funny ways I could not understand. He is very clever, did you know? Father dislikes it though, have heard him saying books are not a suitable occupation for a man, let alone an heir. I agree, Lasander should be more like father. Father always wins you see. And victory is essential to Kingliness, do you not think so?_

_Nursie has been aiding me with my embroidery, says I am doing very well for one of my years, which pleases me greatly. I am stitching a hankie for mama, I will forward it to you, for father has told us we must not write to mama, though he never disallowed contact with her through you and mama deserves forgiveness despite wrongdoing. Do you agree that this is no deception?_

_Irina is croaking over to me from her bed, asking for you to send her a story. Poor dear Irina. She has been so very good, she helped father well in those first months were we learned our mistakes, was very skilful in her cleaning of the floors. She asks for something happy, I would like to hear another too, I remember that of you, your stories, you were a skilled storyteller._

_In fondest friendship_

_Xenia, Nina, Marina, Angelina, Valeriya and Irina (even though she's too old to have me pen greeting s for her, though she is ill, which is her reason!)_

_xxx_

Most worrying. The silly girl seems to think her father is right! And after all the time I spent attempting to teach them the contrary, stupid, stupid girl, why can they not understand!

And finally from the child residents of the castle at the centre of the Goblin City, Jareth himself, oh how I long to have him back here once more, he was safe here, he was getting better. He can be such a good boy if possessed of the correct disposition, but he is inherently changeable, based on both his ancestry and independent spirit built up with careful care and guardianship from his _dear_ papa.

He should be here, in Fjorda, tis where he belongs, not back in the pit that his father inhabits – such a place of debauchery and evil is no place in which to raise a child, let alone one as delicate as Jareth. I could of sworn he was developing a sniffle when it came for him to leave, I must write to Olga and inform her in no uncertain terms that his welfare must be paramount, he is pale, and slight, eats little – he needs protection and a good bulky diet to get some fat on him. That is something I am not sure Olga is capable of delivering - let alone love.

_To Nanny_

_I miss you. Olga is a nasty and cruel girl. She will not answer the questions I ask of her. And none shall be cruel to me. When I am big, I will see that no one be cruel to me or papa ever again. I will Nanny._

_Olga has said if I am good I go to market next Holy day. I am excited I recall how we went to the market. You were good to me and I wish much for when I see you. I will buy you something pretty. You must try harder, papa called you an ox, he would not if you were pretty. _

_Tutor is dull and shouts often and I sing. Very loud. Which he does not like._

_Send me a story. Now._

_Jareth_

It fair brings tear to my eye to imagine him speaking with such characteristic confidence of tone and manner. He is good boy, truly, just too use to indulgence and excess in his little desires and fancies, even under the tyranny of his father. And of course his father is a monster, no example to set a child.

Fancy calling me an ox! The swine.

* * *

Countless apologies for the delay in getting this out, I was initially disheartened by the (Initial) lack of response and pushed it to the back of my priorities, but I have found a new fondness for the story, and am writing again. It would be best not for me to promise when new chapters will be up, but I will put more effort into writing them from now on!

I hope you all like this chapter, and I'm sorry it's a bit thin on narrative I just wished to see how good I am false letter writing. These are based once more on the Grand Duchesses whose names I pilfered for the sisters, they lived early 20th century, and there was an awful lot of exaggeration and over dramatisation, and hugely elaborate and overdone greetings and ends to the letters. Also, here, I had better acknowledge the only aspects taken from the real Grand Duchesses are Maria's flirtatiousness and her nickname, and Olga's habit of reading and writing profusely. Trust me, the real family was not remotely twisted like this one.

All reviews are really appreciated, they're one of my largest motivations to keep writing, so if you can, take the time and let me know what you think.


	19. Chapter 19

_58__th__ Marish_ it is the next year. Jareth is six, nearly seven. The entry is being written at the main castle in Fjorda.

Deary me! Once more, so very long, but the children occupy so much time, and there has been so much else besides.

I have not returned to the Devil's pit, have not been called to or coerced (to my fortune) in any way so the last year has been spent happily occupying myself with Sophia, and come the autumn, Jareth.

He is gaining weight now, looks healthier than the last time I saw him. But he is still ever so pale, and there appears to be nothing I am capable of doing to alter his bizarre disposition – the boy is either swinging from the chandeliers in the halls (much to my chagrin) or moping in a corner with his work books scribbling the latest snatches of verse that dare grace his mind. It must be stated his verse appears to of deteriorated in quality under the tuition of the teachers the King has employed for Jareth and Sophia – it is now far more banal, simplistic and the rhymes are positively _terrible,_ childish, what any other would expect of his years but I myself now there is far greater artistic potential that has been smothered by the flowery, patronising perception of the tutors both his Uncle and Father seem so particularly fond of employing. The children are developing into little else than well-groomed parrots.

Still, his singing is going from strength to strength, his voice is stronger, hold more power, though he warbles on somewhat, occasionally pitching the notes too high – he once shattered a chandelier into innumerable fragments – we dared not walk till the servants cleared the mess for fear of lacerating our ill protected feet! Here is a taster of the material his excessively towering teacher is having him recite:

_The summer wind twas strong, twas proud,_

_till the autumn blew it's shallow gales,_

_quieting that , glory ridden heightened splendour,_

_to be subdued by the eternal world of drifts and desolation._

He had the child out of conventional rhyme for the first time six months hence, appears hell bent on ingraining his memory with highly complex poetry of his own making. He struggled at first, though he is now better at voicing the multi faceted words his teacher barrages upon him.

Poor Sophia is almost entirely forgotten during proceedings. I often play with her in the corner, simulating horsey sounds as she romps about demurely on her hobby horse, casting occasional glances at her cousin and his somewhat hyperbolic antics.

He is also growing, he is a fair few inches above me now! It is most disconcerting to think that my charge fair towers over me, considering he is nothing more than a little child. I had his hair cut slightly before his departure, not much for it is ever such lovely hair, puts my own to shame, but I believe when a boy's hair grows past his shoulders it is time for action to be taken with great immediacy. There was a fair tantrum that he threw at the concept of me taking scissors to his head – he attempted to snatch them from me repeatedly as I sat him on a little stool and it was a right challenge to keep them out of reach of the terror!

His other lessons progress well – away from the lapse in educational dedication when the time spent with his father was fruitless beyond him being taught idle trickery and illusion and the like by his 'dear papa', and indoctrinated with a sense of the power that will be undeniably his as a man by his tutor, who still remains in service despite his increasing bouts of affection towards High Princess Olga! It is truly despicable. From what Jareth tells me of his lessons back 'home' any would believe he was being tutored as the _heir_, for Lasander has slipped to the distance in all our perceptions, little more than a ghost figure remembered only for his name and position.

Just before Jareth left, he utilised his newly found skill in the magical arts, he conjured up a ghost image of himself, and had it drift into the carriage as his double – his intention being to remain and taste the pleasures and joys the Fjordan summer has to offer, but it twas his tutor sent to collect them all, and he saw through the illusion, though I noted the surprise that appeared apparent at the child being capable of such feats of trickery to the extent he proved capable.

I returned home for a well deserved months leave, my, it must have been just before the advent of the new year – just in time for the celebration of the Scrabbleday – the Holiest of days! Oh, it was such happiness, I saw them all, Father, Constance, Clarity, Diligence, Sensibility etc. etc.! There are so many, when one works to support a family of twenty-seven it can become somewhat tiresome to record each of their names upon the sight of them. Father is well, ageing, but takes great pleasure in his vegetable patch behind the cottage! I presented him with knitted clothes (tunic, underclothes, hat etc.) to protect against the winter, he was greatly appreciative, for Clarity cannot competently sew a stitch! The families clothes were fair in rags, it must be said.

They all seemed struck by some change in me. I frankly cannot see what they speak of, only an increasing sophistication in manner and speech. And that, I believe, is a change that can only be for the better. Oh yes, Constance has a suitor! It is most bizarre to think of my little sister romping about in the fields with Grunge, that nasty snotty boy from the cottage adjacent to our own, but still, if he brings her happiness, I can only wish her well. Though I could never for the life of me think why, the nasty creature has no sense of personal hygiene.

On the subject of unattractive dwarves of a male disposition, I hear Hoggle is relegated to the status of a mere stable hand in the Goblin King's service, though in truth the fact he retains any employ at all under the Goblin King whom he defied no utterly is a miracle in itself.

However, returning to the royalty whom I serve, there has been a fair buzz of action. The Queen, when she returned after her first spell of captivity with the evil only incarnate as The Goblin King, after an extended period that I can only liken to mourning, though for what I cannot say, became struck by a passionate desire to reunite herself with her children by whatever means possible. She, being an intelligent woman when the mood suits, set upon the idea of marrying off as many as she could and installing them to live in the castle permanently in their martial state. And, it has worked – for two of the girls at least.

She combed the local nobility of her brother's lands, caring not for position or rank, indeed searched out those with the least responsibility so as to set them up in accommodation in her brother's castle and have no other responsibility than to act as her dear companions. She succeeded, ultimately locating husbands willing to marry two of the Princesses! Under any other circumstances it would be shocking to think of High Princesses of a governing land to be married off to nothing more than minor, land-owning nobility, but here the decision is excusable. She arranged the weddings, did not even ask her daughters permission (she did not dare) nor tell the two suitors of their brides ignorance. She left express instructions, leaving express instructions as to how the girls who chose to marry should conduct themselves. She gave them no dowry, no trousseau's, nothing – it was to my relief to hear that it was the Fjordan King himself who would provide such luxuries to the bridal couples.

Anyway, with the weddings arranged, discussion was carried out in utmost secrecy over the time of their freedom here in Fjorda, and it was decided they should be married a mere _day_ before they were sent for. Ultimately, Tatyana and Maria chose to give themselves in marriage. I do not well know why, especially for Tatyana, the solemnest, queerest creature I know of is she! May Scrabble protect her poor unwitting husband! But Maria was ecstatic at the concept, nattering along to Alexandra, brave girl, who I noticed had tears in her eyes upon her departure for the loss of her bosom companion.

Some of the other girls reactions were notable. Olga, who I seriously believed would take up the offer on escape, looked on the others with disdain, referring to her sisters as 'despicable desperadoes' and adding that 'death would indeed be preferable to a union with such lowly cretins' (in reference to their now husbands) – if anything to leave her role as Jareth's nursery maid, for she never fails to whine and natter on and on about what a terror he is. He isn't, not in truth, it's all lies, he can be such a lovely, sweet kindly little boy and I'm sure he will grow to be a strong, brave, generous man if given time to fully develop an understanding for his father's evil. I must apologise – I was distracted. Anyway, as I was saying responses varied, we have received a letter from dear Anastasia, congratulating her two sisters on their bravery, one line I snatched a look at was particularly memorable in context – 'I am sure _dear_ Olga will protest – but you must remember it is nothing more than mindless pride, and pride ultimately holds little reward.'

The girls married the day before they were due to depart. Tatyana was most brusque, tapping her heel and repeatedly glaring at the Priest for immediacy in speaking the marriage rites, she is probably the most beautiful of them all, has finely cut delicate features, a truly Elfin face and vaguely curling Auburn hair – her husband appeared relatively love struck at the sight of her! She looked like some pagan idol robed in her wedding gown, sparkling with fire and vivacity. It is wicked of me, but I can't help but draw amusement from the contrast between her beauty and her foul, queer attitudes and moods. A guess of mine is that she marries to find an outlet for the passion so suppressed in the presence of her Uncle's court and her father's tyranny.

Maria was hopping about like a rabbit, squealing and euphoric at the concept of becoming a 'grown woman' with her own retinue, wardrobe, freedom etc. etc. the type of which her nannies and 'grandmama' warbled on to her of endlessly. It really reminds one of how very different these people are at their lack of true concern they hold for one another's welfare beyond superficial exhibits of emotion. When Maria and Tatyana remained (the King acted on the pretence both were struck with fever and would be sent to their father upon their recovery, a falsity the tutor accepted without question – he seemed to be mooning over Olga more than paying attention) and the others all departed, Alexandra was grief stricken.

She ran to her sister's rooms ( a suite afforded to her as a result of her impending marriage) and refused to leave until Maria begged her to do so, warning her of how all would suffer should she uphold her passionate display. Maria cried into her sister's hair as the other sobbed in choked, throaty gasps, running instead of walking from the rooms she knew would hold the last remnant of her sister's childhood.

And mere hours after her departure, Maria and Tatyana spoke nothing of their families, only their forthcoming marriages, voices rapidly quieting to veiled whispers no other were privy to. Though to be honest, the most significant surprise is that Tatyana spoke in a remotely conversational tone! Even if it was in the utmost privacy.

Their mother was overwhelmed with emotion on her reunion with them upon her own return mere hours after her other children had departed, she clutched them both to her bosom, weeping wildly to their discomfort, as it is clear to seer they know identify themselves as respectively an independent adult and a married woman. They both seemed tired at first, though are more adjusted now, with Maria nattering on excitedly about all manner of things, she is presently attempting to coerce her mother into allowing a honeymoon of sorts – she has an insatiable thirst for independence! Her husband is somewhat mild, but she is very kind, hugs him often and litters him with kisses etc. etc. and he appears to gain pleasure from her affections.

Tatyana's husband is, I get the sense, dismayed, for she is proving to be the most distant, cold figure imaginable. It is unnatural. She spends no time with her husband. Never even addresses him, with them occupying separate rooms. Instead she often retreats to the vast libraries, poring over books of matters of no concern to her and not speaking a word. She almost looks ill, is very pale, devilishly thin and is often nauseous and plagued by a throbbing brain of late. When she is restrained to bed you can guarantee she will be partaking in some activity or another, always of the intellectual kind. Her diligence is admirable, it is her cold aloofness that is horrifying to behold. She is an Ice Princess, as untouchable, unmoving and heartbreakingly beautiful as a statue formed of marble. It is pitiful to see what circumstance has made her.

It has been several weeks now since the party left. And we have heard nothing, and for some reason – I am frightened. I have not even had a letter from Olga, something she never fails to send me. The anger, the wild imperial tempers I can never fully describe, they would be more welcome than this suffocating silence. It is disconcerting and I wish to hear of Jareth, my poor little boy, I pray to Scrabble every single night, wringing my hands till they ache to protect him. To protect this whole wretchedly, tortured family from the splintered warring bonds of kinship I know in my heart of hearts that they can never truly escape.

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Once more, apologies for the wait, and thanks so much for the reviews everyone – it's really nice to see some of the old followers of the story return!

Now might be a good time to explain that I'm sorry for the fact we're all left in the dark with regards to what's truly going on, I like the first person, as it helps add an interesting spin on things, which is why I'm writing Thursday's Child with Sarah as the narrator – the thing is the first person results in a very biased, personal interpretation of everything, it may help to imagine what it is Simplicity is describing, and think how someone else would view the same situation if you want a more objective view of what's actually going on.

As kind of compensation for the wait, I've drawn a pic of the sisters going from Olga down to Xenia excluding Anastasia – it may help you visualise them a bit! There's a link in my profile, and I've emailed the link to my reviewers.

My exams are nearly over now and I know where I'm taking it, so fingers crossed for a quicker update next time!

Many thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it – please review!

Oh yes, the rhyme is mine, God knows how I wrote that, my poetry is abysmal.


	20. Chapter 20

_15__th__ Achi_ [The same year. Jareth has just turned seven. Entry written from the main castle.

I am pleased to report that I can know delve into the reason's beyond Tatyana's so very prominent awkwardness – as well as her father's characteristically excessive reaction to her and Maria's respective marriages. To adhere to my name, the most straightforward answer to these issues would be fury.

Tatyana gave I, and all the other ladies present a stark exploration of difficulties she was having to experience, resulting in tremendous shock. It was most distressing for all involved, bad girl. Although I must admit, her forwardness was somewhat humorous when considering circumstance.

It has become usual now, with the Queen infinitely more happy for her daughter's company, for us all to have ladies dinners, where we gossip, nibble at little iced biscuits etc. This all takes place in the Queen's drawing room, and when not making idle chat the ladies perform our most often returned to of activities – writing, it is almost unheard of for a lady not to have at least ten, or twelve subjects to write to at length every day. Tis a busy life. In my spare time I often act as scribe for the ladies who would otherwise be too exhausted to complete their day's correspondence.

The Queen was ever so kind on this particular occasion, insisted I came along with Sophia in tow if necessary (Hatchet it truly on death's door – the doctors say only a few more weeks at most. This of course, is all being kept from the child, who has been told Hatchet is visiting her mother.)

So, on this particular occasion, a week hence it was, the Queen had hired a magician to perform some silly trickery for our amusement. Present were, the Queen, her daughters, and five ladies of her brother's court, Lady Clack (a very outspoken, excitable figure), The Duchess of Loofah (suffers from persistently groveling to those of better station), Princess Destit (the contrast to before – she holds unnecessary airs), Lady Vestibule (young, unmarried and eager to attain a state of matrimony) and her sister Lady Ryot (younger still, a silly, giggly creature.)

The magician himself was amusing not in his skill but in his ineptitude. He suffered from a chronic stutter, and his hands shook something awful when reciting the incantations specific to his intention He also made a shockingly amusing mistake – he was attempting to summon a baby Dragon upon the request of Lady Ryot (they can be somewhat charming when not setting fire to the lady's trains) and he spoke the incantation as a kind of muffled whisper, and at the end of his long, solemn speech, it twas not a baby Dragon that appeared – but a baby unicorn! Oh it was such a precious darling, we all flocked around it (with the exception of Tatyana who remained in her chair looking positively miserable) and Sophia was in a state of rapture – she demanded it be her's despite the magician's poor attempts to gain possession once more of the creature himself him speaking of how 'the mother will not be amused' – the Queen gave him a purse weighted with silver coins, and that silenced his protests and he scurried off, although how he will manage to calm an enraged Unicorn with such weak skill I can scarcely imagine. 

Moving on, Sophia was sat huddled on the floor besides her new found pet (who she has been expressly told NOT to ride. I believe she will for a second obey if given opportunity) feeding it generously with those little blocks of sugar that were stacked neatly in the center of the table before being toppled by her swiftly acting hand.

Tatyana broke the comfortable, demure silence that had settled upon the scene. What followed was too priceless for words, so excuse me if I venture into a narrative.

"Mama?" The Queen turned her head towards her elder daughter as she spoke, I noted how Tatyana positively cringed at referring to her mother with such childishness. It is a technique used when she seeks favor. Her mother beckoned for continuation, "may I request an annulment?" The calmness with which she spoke was only shattered by Lady Clack dropping her (VERY expensive) tea cup to the floor. A serving creature instantly materialized and swept away the mess before her Majesty even had time to notice, the servant swarmed out on it's belly so as to avoid detection.

"Surely you jest?" Her mother looked as pale as death, poor dear.

"No mama, I truly mean what I say? Have you ever known me to lie? I do not lie, all I ask is an end to this horrid business." She spoke in earnest, her beautiful, fire lit eyes attempting to draw on a form of pity and compassion the Queen does not possess.

"But what on earth is wrong? I and darling Panda (Maria's diminutive for her husband's true name – Pandarus) are ever so happy – why is is not so for you?" This was Maria. Her mother gave her a warm appreciative smile for the addition of reason.

Tatyana wasted no time in explaining her logic to us, a crowd of shocked, dismayed faces. "My partner is extremely dull. I do not believe any of you understand how nauseating it is to be trailed by a husband who's only action is to follow one persistently and present reams of flowery love nonsense to me. It's tiresome." She arched an eyebrow. "Any of you? Surely_ one_ of you must understand?"

She only looked slightly put out when all that remained was a shocked silence, before launching into a torrent of shocking abuse. "Oh you're all such utter bores! All you do is sit here, writing inane letters no one reads! Sipping tea and observing folly – what of enlightenment? Magic? We inhabit a world of wonders beyond the wildest fantasies of most and all you do in response is lounge and wait to be slaved to! I believed myself to be escaping endless boundaries with marriage – not enforcing yet more upon me!" She gave a cry of frustration at our row of faces steeped in shock, before clicking finely polished fingernails to vanish in an instant, accompanied by a vaguely flamboyant shower of iridescence.

Then there was uproar. Lady Clack was positively blissful with excitement over the scandal, Maria, Vestibule and Ryot launched into a passionate debate over the depth of Tatyana's moral looseness and Loofah and Destit, alongside I attempted to comfort the Queen who was near ready to faint from the shock.

Loofah tried to calm her through painting it all as a childish game of Tatyana's, 'she did not mean it and is in truth happy, she only spoke in the spirit of fun' etc. etc. Total rubbish of course, one could tell by observing how the girl's features_ twisted_ in fury that she meant every word. Destit appealed to her to be strong and to pull into use her royal decorum and sense to handle the affair with diplomacy. This just made the poor woman wail louder, all I found myself able to do was to say 'there, there' over and over and squeeze her hand in reassurance, at one point, she smiled down at me through the tears in recognition of my efforts. It is for such reward that I work as I do.

Later, when trailing behind Sophia on our way to the nurseries after what turned out to be a very long day (we had visited the peasants and had stayed too long, Sophia being enraptured by a poor child's hobby horse and insisting that we remain so she could play with the scruffy child at length), we passed by the library, the door was pulsing with a queer, enchanted light. Poor Tatyana's husband was in tears brandishing a posy and the Queen was besides him looking older than I have ever seen her in her nightdress and with her hair loose, and falling down her back. There were lines beneath her eyes and I could swear I spied streaks of grey marring her golden hair – unnatural attributes for a woman of her origin. We moved on, I did not dare interfere.

I later learned the commotion was because Tatyana had locked herself in the library and was steadfastly refusing to budge until her marriage was dissolved. These creatures are so very stubborn in the ways – they can never accept to be denied anything!

In the end, she magicked herself to the Kitchens from the necessity for nourishment and was restrained there by the cook who has crude magical capability, she cursed like a sailor at the loyal man! Her mother sat her down and spoke to her at length, told her of duty, and how she is to accept her lot and accept it with good humor or else loose everything. The girl sulkily agreed. All of this was relayed to me by Clack in a fit of gossipy excess (she told me she has never had so much correspondence to write), and with her tendency to exaggerate (of the original outburst she reported Tatyana vanished with a spectacle of fire wielding demons and reams of jewels and chiffon in attendance) it's reliability is in doubt, but it is of sufficient interest for inclusion.

In other news, it appears that poor Anastasia is suffering some unknown difficulty. Her carriage arrived in the dead of night four days ago and she has not yet left. I have barely seen her but from when I have sighted her I can reported she is horribly skinny, poor creature, near always bleary eyed and tearful – her mother is her constant companion and they are both hugely gratified to see each other, for the Queen it compensates for the disgrace surrounding Tatyana (who is still utterly neglectful towards her poor husband, and is in disgrace at court and is scorned by all, not that the bizarre girl seems to care a jot) and for Anastasia it is a chance to finally see her mother once more after nothing but a steady stream of correspondence for a fair few years.

Her father of course knows nothing of their sustained bond, if he knew he would be terribly vengeful, I am sure of it. His cruelty surrounding the marriages is unsurpassed and justifies my dread of him, and it was my sad duty to inform the Queen and the girls of his punishment to them for their defiance, for no correspondence to any of the afore-mentioned is allowed at his house and correspondence directed to me is quite simply only allowed because he views me as utterly insignificant – he cannot even recall the fact that I exist, I am certain of it. In a way that is my greatest asset.

_Dearest Simplicity_

_Apologies in my delay for establishing contact – you have no idea how dreadful everything is here. Father is angry. More so than I have ever seen him. For he is not raging, he is not ranting, he is simply cruel, coldly heartless and distant. He lacks passion that before characterized him as my father and a suitable ruler for a land as lawless as this._

_He cannot even find time for his much despised mistresses anymore, they are truly a nuisance drifting around like rainbow clothed banshees twittering their trivial, spiteful gossip on all manner of topics and untruths. _

_In a way it is due to Tatyana's and Maria's defiance that he has noticed he even has daughters for the first time for he has a fear of us all being snatched from him. Even though his attentiveness to Lasander and Jareth is fleeting, it exists – he knows their names something he never knew of us. He knows me by name now, is more likely to call for 'Olga' rather than 'girl' but the name's of the others elude him, as they do the majority of the servants who only ever know us as 'princess' despite much encouragement from Alyss and Marina to refer to us by name. They are fanciful in their deluded beliefs in the possibility for companionship between Goblin and Princess – it has never been known and I am sure it never will be._

_We will not be allowed to write to Mama or the sisters anymore. So I cannot express how grateful I am for you providing me with a link to civilization. Father has told us so, Irina tried to deliver a letter to mama through means of one still loyal to her but father caught her and had the letter disintegrated as it lay in her hand. She cried before him, pleaded with him to have some sense of compassion, to try and understand who she should wish to defy him. But he won't listen, sees nothing but wanton malignancy in why we should possess motivation to attempt contact, and that in itself is an ever fixed mark of a true Goblin King. That in itself is truly a pity._

_His revenge is muted, terrible in how understated it is. He is using decorum that is quite simply not natural to him. He has, from now, declared he is the father of only twelve children, two sons and ten daughters and he is in the process of systematically removing any trace, any mention of Tatyana and Maria from all aspects of our lives. Portraits including them are either being painted over or destroyed utterly, records are being altered, and they have been totally removed from succession and are not to be mentioned in his presence or ours, which in itself is ridiculous for despite the far reach of father's ability he cannot stem his own daughter's tongues without their removal. It appears my overall dislike of the idea of two of my sisters, princess's of a ruling land married off to little more than mere landowners has been justified._

_Father has also developed an irritating resurgence of paranoia. He is now convinced mother is going to use us all as weapons against him, to shame him and establish him as a weak figure of ridicule at Uncle's court. I am suspicious that he is aiming to marry me off to someone in the close vicinity of the castle. I'll be fine as long as it isn't that horrid little man in control of the Mountains beyond the Goblin City, Gerald I believe his name was, he came over the other day to talk politics with father and I was attempting to prevent Jareth torturing the subjects (he has redeveloped those nasty habits of his, such as using the Goblins for targets with his toy bow and arrow. It would be amusing where it not so messy) and their voices turned low and conspiratorial with my presence. For now I shall suspect I am to be married to him and therefore I will feel no shock if it turns out to be true and elation if it is proved to be a falsity. _

_Jareth himself is a pain as usual. He is louder, more obnoxious and self possessed than ever before. He has also just turned seven, and is somehow convincing himself he's a man simply because he's fully graduated from those silly frocks mama use to dress him in – now it is solely a miniature rider's ensemble he's equip with, breeches, shirts, very small boots etc. _

_He is characterized by a boundless energy, and when father allows riding he will somehow scramble atop one of the larger horses (he views his small dappled pony with scorn) and rides them like a miniature theatrical performer for miles over the mountains with me in pursuit. I catch him each time, have to mount my own horse in the most cumbersome of robes (often full court dress (train, tiara, sash etc.) in case of visitors that never come - all at father's insistence) and gallop till the poor creature positively foams at the mouth from exertion but I always retrieve him. He is truly a devil, I often have to yank him away snarling and kicking by the scruff of his neck._

_As for the horses, I leave their rediscovery to the stable staff, one of them, I believe Boggle was his name, is especially bad tempered when ordered to begin yet another search anew. He truly despises Jareth, scowls at him something terrible for the trouble to which the child puts him. I noticed how in response Jareth once proffered a tongue in scorn at the Dwarf''s muttered chides. I gave the ruffian a good, hard slap for such crudeness in manner – and how he cried, truly, it was like an infant!_

_His magic is also becoming troublesome, he vanishes on whim at the most annoying of moments, it is my fortune he is only capable of hopping short distances and retains invisibility for a short time. He is always disappearing before his tuition, before bedtime, bath time etc. and you have no idea how embarrassing it is to face that leering lusty eyed tutor as I smoothly inform him of Jareth's unintended absence before quickly making myself scarce. Truly, if I do get married in many respects it would be a relief to escape him!_

_Tell mother I hope she is well, tell the sisters nothing and keep yourself comfortable and do not allow for you to be down trod! Tatya and Mashka are too pampered for their own good and I do not trust them (or any other members of that loose court you inhabit for that matter) not to misuse your better nature._

_Keep well._

_Olga_

_P.S. When replying please use caution. Do not refer to Mama, Tatiana and Maria by name – utilize substitutes, I will figure out who it is you write of. I do not trust father not to tamper with letters addressed to me, he is suspicious of the hours I spend writing, although he has no need to be for the vast majority of what I scribe is nothing more than my poetry._

How curious that she feels I am merely being used. I do not feel that way, I can truly state I have never felt happier than I do now. I do not serve because I am exploited without my willingness but because I wish it. Sophia is not the ideal child to nurse, but _Jareth_, I see such potential for greatness, such good smothered by repeated exposure to evil in him, it is worth every hour of labor to remain to help guide him towards the best use of his potential Still, she means well with her kind words.

Thank heaven he will never be King, that role corrupts more than any, as Olga's commentary on his wrath has proved to me, I see him as a great artist, he will be loved, loved by many, I am sure of it – he will have a happy life, and I will help him achieve it. It makes me feel warm, happy to imagine I can help craft a life that will help do something good in the world.

Now, no more rambling, I must go to bed, a long day tomorrow, Sophia is to accompany her father to the theater and preparing for it and retaining order will be a true challenge!

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Phew, another chapter down! I can't believe I've written twenty, but still, the end is in sight.

Thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one and please let me know what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

_30__th__ Jansplur [Jareth is seven. Simplicity is writing from the Castle in the Goblin City_

I can hardly believe it. I have returned, after weeks of travelling and hardship I am _here_. I once more tread the dirt encrusted flagstones of the Goblin King's castle. There is crisis. The Goblin King has severed all contact with Fjorda – he has determined that his children will never again be allowed freedom from his sovereignty, let alone allowed to visit their Uncle and cousin as they had grown use to. No one else was prepared to take any meaningful action to help them, so I took it upon myself to do _something_ – and that something has ended up with me sat here, in my old room and writing with a passion I can never remember possessing before.

My being here is proof that I am better, more just, than any of those wrapped in their monster skin furs back in the icy wastes of Fjorda. To experience superiority over all those born into luxury and excess, despite feeling somewhat guilty for to be proud is a failing, is strangely, well, exhilarating.

Last Octopu, when the children were due to return, we heard nothing. There is usually a deluge of commerce, telegrams and letters, detailing the possessions, the preparations that need to be began etc. But this time there was not even a scrap of information. On the day of exchange the Queen was fully prepared to depart, luggage packed, goodbyes said and she lingered in the front hall waiting for a carriage that never came.

After it became apparent there was no carriage coming she immediately demanded that her brother send a messenger to the Goblin City, accordingly, a messenger was dispatched with great speed. We waited a torturous week without news – until contact arose in the form of the following telegram:

_To __His Royal Highness the King of Fjorda_

_From now on __my__ children will remain in the land of their birth. They have been restricted from returning to your pit of lies and treachery._

_Tell my wife she is no longer welcome. Should she attempt entry onto my property – she will suffer for her stupidity._

_His Imperial Majesty, the Goblin King._

_P.S. __My __daughter Olga is now a wife. She was married at midsummer. You need not expect any letters from her from this time forward. Please inform your scheming whore of a sister not to enquire as to her whereabouts._

There was an immediate outpouring of defiance against his rash, selfish, actions. A barrage of telegrams, emissaries and diplomats were sent in an attempt to regain access to the children – but we heard nothing more from the Goblin King. The messengers who were dispatched never returned. There were rumours, chilling rumours that any Fjordan subject in the Goblin City had been arrested and thrown into the dankest, most squalid oubliettes the King possessed. Now I live here, I know it to be so terribly true. Their pathetic, faceless cries linger through the cold, desolate nights.

The Queen crumbled. She broke down, became distraught and ultimately had Tatyana share a room with her to suppress the hellish nightmares that ensured her a fitful sleep every night. I thought, at the time, Tatyana could have been of little use due to the extremity of the Queen's grief and Tatyana's severe level of detachment from her mother due to previously detailed points of conflict. Ultimately I was proven wrong, Tatyana's almost frustratingly level headed, practical approach to life despite her inclinations to dabble in flamboyance proved to be the Queen's salvation. Tatyana gave her a tie to reality, a reason to be strong for the daughters who remained and eventually the Queen returned to some sense of normality in that she ate once more with her family and occasionally ventured beyond her rooms – but she was only to change after months of overwrought grief.

As the court gradually returned to normal after an extended period of tension and awkwardness surrounding the Queen's near manic fervour, I felt nothing but the weight of my heart as it grew yet heavier with the passage of time. I thought of the children, those poor, frightened little children ensnared within their father's reach forever without relief. I thought of my poor, talented little boy – of how lost and lonely he must have been, how starved of love and affection he was sure to be with no one to support him spare his tyrant of a father.

By Scrabbleday, I could bear it no longer, with the festivities and the merry making for the festival in full swing I could pay no attention to joy when haunted by such dark, troublesome thoughts.

I took the decision to write a letter, with no one's knowledge let alone the King's for I held no wish to inspire his rage by attempting to desert his own child as by Scrabbleday I was her only nurse for Hatchet had passed away early in Novelesta. I never for an instant could have guessed the King's response to my attempts to depart would involve so much more than annoyance over the departure of his child's nurse.

I drafted the letter many, many times, repeatedly crushing every failed attempt and sending it ricocheting into a wastepaper basket. Ultimately, I settled upon the following. Decided that knowing the Goblin King's wild temperament it would be unwise to craft too long a plea:

_Your Imperial Highness_

_I do not know if you remember me, but until the events of recent times I was the nurse to your younger son, Jareth._

_I am now aware they are to remain in your residence permanently, and considered that now his sisters are all becoming of marriageable age and Jareth is still young enough to be in need of female care, you may require the services of a servant to meet his emotional needs. _

_I am skilled in childcare, mathematics and literacy and believe my presence would be beneficial to the child's general well being and development into a prince of your illustrious realm._

_I ask only for food and lodging in return and have resources enough to travel to the Goblin City without any trouble to yourself or your expenses._

_Yours in Service_

_Ms. Simplicity Battleaxe_

My hand trembled when I placed it in the possession of the castle's messenger, and I immediately regretted acting with such impulse at the sight of him leaving promptly (the service continued although messengers refused point blank to set foot within the boundaries of the Goblin Kingdom itself – messages were left at a drop off point by the boundary).

It is not in my nature or that of my people to allow the heart to take precedence over logical thought - it troubled me that I was loosing my head so utterly over the welfare of a child. It was over a bright and loveable child, certainly, but a child to whom I bear no relation and who actively sought to undermine my authority and was known to be an excessively naughty little boy when I was in his company. There is something magnetic about the boy, something that makes it impossible for me to push him from my thoughts.

Even when I am old and lined, cursed with weak, tired eyes and feeble limbs I will never be able to forget him. I can't help but ask myself if he will remember _me_. If I do my job well I believe he will recall me with fondness, and his sense of fondness will have been won through the right means if I teach him well.

Weeks passed. The New Year was celebrated with great merriment and excess by the greater majority of the court, excluding the Queen and her daughters, all of whom were dressed in excessive black and spoke in low, mournful whispers, apart from Tatyana who simply said nothing at all – preferring to read rather than immerse herself in her mother's overblown grief. Maria adopted mourning attire with great reluctance and insisted on keeping her jewels close at hand and was careful to wear mourning robes of a stylish cut. The Queen wore a flimsy veil and skirts that skimmed the ground and were complimented by innumerable ribbons, brooches and orders as if she was attempting to compensate for the loss of her children by lavishing herself with attractive, costly, trinkets.

It was the 9th of Jansplur when everything changed, when I got the reply I had prayed for and was made all too aware of the true nature of all those I had served with unwavering devotion.

A messenger boy came in at breakfast time, as was usual, with the daily post – an eagerly anticipated aspect of the day to day monotony of life in Fjorda. I was sat with Sophia at the end of the table, my charge sat propped up by a stack of silken pillows whilst I sat on a low stool, my head just below the level of the table top, besides her.

With room for retrospective commentary, their treatment of me was degrading, despite my initial pleasure at being included in their little gatherings I now realize I was there for no other reason than to maintain a firm leash on Sophia. They all seemed to be totally ignorant of how I was different to them and how in some cases such differences made my position a somewhat awkward one when no one was prepared to help me when I was not in a position to help myself.

Everyone's heads lifted attentively as he announced his presence, and the King prompted him to announce who the day's post was for.

The boy read out in a high, clear voice the name on the only letter, "Miss Battleaxe, your Highness."

The King looked utterly dumbfounded, "Battleaxe? Who by the Gods is Battleaxe?"

I answered in a modest whisper, "It's for me sir."

Sophia piped up as the King's expression suggested my existence was a shocking revelation, "but you're Nurse _Simplicity_! Not Bladdlease!" There was a flurry of cultured laughter over her mangling of my family name.

"That's my surname, dear." I veiled my annoyance as the messenger trotted towards me and handed me a wax sealed letter; one has to learn how to be skilled at such discretion in such a profession as mine if not wishing to be dismissed for 'misconduct'.

"Do open it Simplicity! Read it out – is it from your family?" Maria strained across the table to take a closer look. She gasped dramatically as she sighted the handwriting. "Mama! That's Papa's handwriting!"

A terrible, pregnant silence fell over the room. Forks stopped in their paths towards eager mouths, waiting imps scurrying about the tabletop froze in their busy servitude and the Queen's mouth stretched to be chasm like at the revelation.

"Maria, tell me this is a jest…" the Queen's voice trailed off allowing the silence to resume.

"No Mama! I recognize it as plain as day! Look," she attempted to snatch the letter away as I held it closer to my chest, intimidated and isolated by their overstated shock, "if Simplicity would _kindly _pass me the letter I'd show you Mama. Look! – it even has his seal!"

The King shot up, his usually impassive features turning positively vengeful as he brought his fists down upon the table prompting it to quake violently. He made Sophia burst into frightened tears and the women squealed in shock at the drama. "What is this? Dwarf – have you been scheming with that, that," he paused to select the right words before speaking them with venom, "despicable tyrant?" He seemed to revel in the opportunity to exercise power, no matter how petty that power may have been - him only possessing the courage to attack a victim half his height.

I was speechless, knew not what to say from the shame. I knew then, at that moment, that my life in Fjorda had ceased. My reputation lay in rags as that of a scheming traitor. I cannot say by that time I felt overly miserable at the prospect of leaving, having grown immeasurably tired of the rigid formality and the snobbery that ran rampant in Fjorda. The glamour I had been ensnared by in the beginning, the thrill and the sense of privilege I took in being in the employ of those of royal blood had weakened with time upon discovering they suffer from as many vices, if not more, than any simple man in the street – take away their magic and they are nothing like the Gods they parade themselves as.

Also, I was, to be frank, _bored_ of caring for a child as dull and irritating as Sophia was and probably still is, to even summon her voice to my memory makes my head ache most dreadfully.

He barked an order to the messenger who had remained poised awkwardly waiting to be dismissed, "you boy! Take the letter from her!" I protested and attempted to keep my grip on the letter but could not as it was wrenched from my hand as I was left in consumed by disbelief for their cruelty and total disregard for my pleas for composure.

The letter was swiftly passed to the King who resumed his seat and lounged upon his gilt throne; his voice spoke bitterly and was harsh and accusing as he read out every word - as if the Goblin King's response to my letter was clarification of me being responsible for all the ill brought onto the Queen and her family.

_To Ms. Battleaxe_

_How very amusing. You wish to return? __Here__? I will inform you now my son is perfectly well without the interference of a stunted busybody such as yourself. But if you do wish to attempt the journey to my Kingdom, challenge my Labyrinth, I see no reason to stand in your way trusting that you are not some unlikely spy for my oh so beloved wife. In which case you would not wish to know of the consequences. _

_Show this__ letter at the gates and you are unlikely to be shot at or run through by one of the guards – who knows? If you do succeed I may even be able to find a use for you in the castle. There – is that not generous? To think my wife accuses me of cruelty!_

_His Imperial Majesty, The Goblin King_

"Proof! It is blatant proof of the Dwarf's schemes and lies! Look how the detestable warmonger refers to her with fondness! No doubt it is you who have engineered all the grief that has fallen upon my sister! Hmm?" His eyes bore down upon me accusingly, as did those of everyone else. Even Sophia looked down with an alien remoteness in her eyes from besides me. It chilled me to feel such terrible isolation and threat from those I had thought of almost as being a family to me when I lacked one of my own.

I felt like a persecuted citizen from the infamous Beings of Inconsistent Psychical Stature purges committed by those terrible, elitist Trolls of my grandfather's time (a time best not discussed, terrible, terrible memories are said to be known amongst the elders) – my knees knocked and I clutched my hands together as I quivered like an autumn leaf under attack from a harsh, unforgiving wind.

I was screamed at, shouted at in outrage from a cluster of horrified faces, even the seemingly kindly Maria seemed to delight in exclaiming; 'oh how _could _you Simplicity!' in accompaniment to the Queen's expression of unmitigated disgust and cruel, spiteful remarks I refuse to repeat here.

Tatyana was the only one who did not participate in the general persecution of me as a suitable target for blame, only acting to remain silent and bow her head in the midst of the uproar. For that she deserves my thanks, in retrospect, maybe I was too harsh on her before – her husband _is _something of a love struck bore.

The next day I found myself dismissed in disgrace without as much as a thank you for three years of unwavering service. I was left alone in the height of the bitter Fjordan winter with a threadbare bag containing you, my diary, several much mended pieces of clothing and little else.

For the first time I can remember, I was scared; I had little money, as always I had sent the greater portion of my recent earning's home to support my family and left only a few copper coins for my purse. The winter was bitter, the cold made me teeth chatter, and despite by dog eared furs I was freezing. I was left outside the front gates, the portcullis having been brought down with a crash behind me.

I hurried away and did not take as much as a look back as I attempted not to cry for how terribly ruthless they had all been. I had only just came to accept I was nothing more to them than a paid slave serving no other use than to be present when summoned and to submit obediently to every petty, impulsive demand.

I then recalled a vital detail with a stab of panic that stilled me – the letter, the letter had been taken from me - and he had told me, the Goblin King himself had as much as told me I stood no chance of even seeing the castle without confirmation I had some semblance of permission from him. I felt like crying out, shouting to the skies in sorrow for how unfair and cruel the world was being to me when all I was only doing was what I thought to be right. There seemed to be no relief in store for me away from my role as a target of unwarranted cruelty and exploitation. I didn't of course, shouting, screaming and crying earns one nothing except a reputation as an excitable, overly emotional child.

I began to walk away, stiff from the cold towards the town I remembered how we'd barrelled our way through in such frantic desperation to escape the madman I was about to try and return to. I couldn't help but wonder if I myself had been relieved of all sense to attempt such folly but as I reached the end of the bridge to the town I felt a tug at the end of my cloak, halting my step as well as my thoughts.

I turned with a gasp, bleary eyed from the cold to find a tall, graceful figure stood before me. My breathe rose in plumes as the stranger said nothing, a slender, polished hand passed me a snatch of paper and a small, weighty, knotted bag. Then, the figure bent double to speak to me softly.

"Good luck Simplicity. You're _brave_, to go away and try to go back to a place you know you'll hate. You're braver than _I_ am – you deserve more respect than any of those jabbering fools back in the castle." Tatyana gave a snort and straightened, beginning to walk away.

I stood stupefied, looking on at her in amazement, I gasped in surprise as she spun around in the blink of an eye. She smiled a beautiful, wild smile that tugged at the corners of her lips and said; 'maybe one day I'll have learned enough of_ this_ to do as you do now." A gush of violent wind sent me ricocheting backwards and away in a harmless exhibition of unmeant wrath. The cloaked figure was lost in a violent spray of sparkle and stars as Tatyana vanished back to the castle utilizing all her signature flair. I gazed at the empty space she had occupied a moment before, my mouth held wide open like that of a fool.

All I could think of as I walked away, warmed by some show of compassion from the figure I thought most unlikely to even recognize it was 'that clever, clever girl,' as I looked down in disbelief at the Goblin King's letter of invitation and a bag reassuringly weighty for it's load of two dozen silver pieces. More money than I had ever had possessed in my entire life.

I scurried away with renewed vigour and drive, feeling warm for simply having the knowledge that even those seemingly the remotest and coldest of all can prove to be so much more compassionate than the rest when they are truly needed.

* * *

It took me two weeks to return, two highly eventful and challenging weeks that despite great adversity I feel helped go a great way towards building my character. I had curious emotions, notions I had scorned as foolish before during my journey that I took seriously for the first time. I became somewhat selfish, would think bitterly of all those I had trusted so wholly when they had emerged as cruel and uncaring from a sense of self indulgent pity. But nothing changed how I felt towards Jareth, if anything the revelations at Fjorda strengthened my resolve to make sure he did not emerge to be as corrupt and cruel as all his family (with Tatyana as a hugely notable exception) seemed to be.

Thanks to Tatyana's somewhat excessive generosity, I was able to travel in comfort for the greater portion of the way. I rented a carriage or cart for each stage of the journey; I needed one carriage to the borders alongside the Elfin Kingdoms that seemed to be more distant than I seemed to remember and due to the endless territorial disputes. This was by far the most straightforward and comfortable of all the stages of my progress, the carriage was heated and upholstered – it was so comfortable in fact, I feel asleep, catching up on too many nights spent sleepless from despair.

I had to pass the border by foot and hire yet another carriage on the other side of the border. There was no carriage – only a crude, rickety cart alone in a small clearing amidst a congregation of trees. The atmosphere was intimidating, extended alien cries could be heard in the distance rising over the birdsong and the rustling of branches high in the trees above me. It was late, and I was prepared to accept any ride that happened to be on offer before my legs collapsed beneath me.

A demand for half a silver piece was painted crudely on the side as I moved closer to inspect my transportation. It looked ready to depart, the horse snorted and stamped its hooves impatiently and I darted my head around in search of a driver. I pulled at the trailing cloak of an odd, marble faced, sad eyed creature sat solemn and silent towards the end and asked for the driver – he said nothing (unsurprisingly, I later realized he was a member of the cult of the eternal silence – they are forbidden to speak) he only made to gesture towards the horse. I moved closer in curiosity. The horse was a tubby, well fed creature with a tawny coat, he had wide, dark eyes that sparkled with liveliness and intelligence I failed to notice until it spoke with a roughish snap;

"Well? Are yer getting on or not shorty? _Some_ of us are in a hurry." The horse tossed its head towards its burden as I looked on in amazement. The wonders of my world never seem to cease – it is strange times in which we live for a horse to speak. I asked in a weak, tired voice where I was to pay.

He bent his head before he opened his mouth, his breath reeked terribly as the horse breathed heavily into my face, I attempting not to recoil in revulsion "'ere, it's the only place I trust the buggers not to take more than they give." The horse spoke with its mouth held wide. I was momentarily repulsed by the excessive measures he was using to ensure he kept a firm, unchallengeable possession of his wealth, but overcoming my apprehension, I reached for a coin from my purse and placed it onto the creature's hot, slick tongue.

I hurried away to settle on the coach, jolting to a stop as I heard the animal's bizarrely unnatural voice call to me, "eh! Don't you want your change then missus?" He was very well mannered, that was undeniable.

"No. Think of it as yours," I shuddered to think in what way I would be delivered of money that had travelled through the creature's amazingly complicated inner workings.

"Bless yer love." I sat down and shook my head in disbelief; not only could it speak – but it knew the tricks of the trade, how to con and to charm all those unsuspecting better than many of the best learned tradesmen.

There was a great assortment of various characters who accompanied on my journey, some joining our party half way through, some leaving at the same time and others taking the cart the entire way.

There was an impoverished, wizened elf man who occasionally surveyed us all with a look of utter contempt; his expression radiated a sense of innate superiority. A Troll was sat towards the end and I was convinced it would overbalance the rest of the cart with his weight (thankfully, the cart proved to be sturdier than it appeared) – I was later to learn the hulking monstrosity was nothing more than a child in Troll years!

I could swear I saw a Shade sat looking impossibly immaterial and morose in a corner, but then again it could of simply been a shadow, you can never tell with the more curious of races – the boundary line between those who exist in the physical sense and those who occupy the spiritual realm is shockingly slender.

There were also several rogue imps who had quite obviously sneaked aboard without first buying passage – it was more than once I had to bat the nuisances away as they attempted to dive into my purse! Most of the passengers spent their time asleep, dozing as we passed endless forests and woodland glades, I was one of the few to remain awake to listen to the horse's unsuppressed rush of speech. Funnily enough, he spoke Dwarfish, though for him it was simply one language amongst an entire catalogue of linguistic knowledge. His fluency in my tongue made me feel at ease with his otherwise jarring ability.

Our driver spoke constantly throughout the entire journey to the stop for the night, he gabbled on about anything and everything under the sun as if all he carried were his bosom companions. He proved to be very good natured, and I learned his name was Tullus, or 'Tullus the horse' to give him his full name and preferred name. He went into some detail over his past, spoke irritably over how he had once been a perfectly happy horse, eating grass, roaming fields as horses do. His voice became sorrowful when he told of how his peace had been shattered when he was captured by a deranged Elfin enchanter intent on committing experimentation into the fusion of intelligent elements of conscience with the duller workings of a dumb beast (to quote his comments on the subject 'who did he think he was I tell yer? Stupid? Hah! We're not _all_ galloping and chewing grass like all you back there think, we have a culture I'll have you know!').

Tullus was, of course, given the gift of speech, and told us somewhat proudly how he gave the man a significant piece of his mind as soon as he first prised open his mouth. Ultimately, the enchanter was driven to insanity by Tullus's boundless sarcasm and complaints, and threw himself from the top of his own tower into the raging sea below. Tullus spoke, somewhat smugly I thought, of how he'd commented 'good riddance' and trotted away to establish a self sufficient transportation enterprise, whilst also raising general awareness of the plight of horses in relation to the exploitive tendencies of those possessed of magical ability. I believe his tongue must have been taken from a _very_ learned man.

I was saddened when our journey came to an end. It took a week, involved hourly stops, water breaks, grass eating breaks and breaks for all those of less than four legs (essentially all his passengers.) It took much longer than my first journey through the Elfin lands – I personally believe Tullus drew it out to last as long as he could, being grateful for the company and a set of occasionally attentive ears.

He bid me goodbye with 'see ya another time Sweetheart! If you want favours ask anytime – ask for Tullus, they'll know!" Bless him, he proved to be ever so sweet and good company throughout the journey. I can't help but wonder what he used his earnings for – from the manner in which he spoke of himself, he seemed somewhat vain – so maybe he purchased a hat? I can picture that.

The next stage of the journey was infinitely less remarkable. Trolls, slow and lumbering though they are, are crafty devils and are set to rob you for all your worth and as a consequence upon passing the border I found a seemingly endless row of carts and carriages of various quality lined up in readiness to depart in order to entice as many passengers as possible. I selected the most rickety and tumbledown cart of them all and was careful to check I was not its only passenger.

The driver was a sullen fellow, acted only to draw out his huge, crudely made hand in readiness for my fee, I gave him a silver piece, and he gestured his fingers inward as if asking for more. I gave him one more and walked onto the back of the cart before he could bleed me dry of any more money I could not afford to give.

I began to feel a renewed sense of fear as we drew closer, the journey was short for the driver never once thought to stop for breaks. We were there within a day, and I looked out onto the sight of the Labyrinth lain out before me in all it's mind boggling splendour as the sun died in flares of crimson and amber on the distance.

Our final stop was by a small town besides the border, a strange half place, populated by an entire menagerie of odd people and creatures. I saw a man who rambled unintelligibly to himself with a bird's twittering away as it stood erectly attached to him like an added limb. I saw half creatures, small, hunch backed Trolls with the knotted features of the foulest of Goblins. I saw faceless spirits who lurked in the shadows and sipped from tall flutes of glass as if they were not in a dung scented hovel of an inn but immersed in the heights of cultural sophistication.

There was a place of commerce besides the inn where I slept the night after having successfully ignored the looks and cruel comments thrown at me at my every turn, and it was there I went the next morning to write a letter. I lay on the floor to keep my writing neat as I wrote a letter to my family, informing them of my change in circumstances, speaking hopefully of how I was travelling to be in the employ of another and would write again soon. I had to write with a significant degree of restraint for I had not the vaguest notion of whether or not life would afford me another chance to take pen to paper.

I carefully enquired as to if I could employ a messenger, and the mistress of the post screamed hoarsely for her son. I paid the boy one silver piece for taking the letter (to be true, it was too much, but I did so wish to give the letter the best chance of arriving safely) I told him the recipient would give him food and shelter for the night upon it's successful delivery. I prayed that father would pay attention to my mention of the messenger and instructions to be cordial to him whatever his race – though with father I fear his prejudices may overcome his senses, the hatred for Trolls amongst our people is simply to deep to be forgotten at the command of a humbly worded letter.

I returned to the inn and brought as much food and as many supplies as I could with the money I had before I departed for good, as well as a sack in which to carry them for I knew full well the one I already possessed could never bear their weight without the bottom finally falling through.

I knew I was to travel through the Labyrinth alone as I stood on the threshold of entering the territory of the Goblin King, observing as my heart sank the bleak, dully coloured landscape and the chilling absence of any life or motion.

There would be no helpful, amiable creatures to guide me, no waiting carriages and carts – for it is only fools who dare follow the twisting, treacherous paths of the Labyrinth.

And I was on my way to becoming one of them.

* * *

Boy this is long! I'm just in such a good mood today as I've finally found out I'VE GOT INTO UNIVERSITY :SCREAMS: and felt inspired (I have bizarre ways of digesting success in comparison to my friends – most of whom are down at the pub as I go to bed early because _some_ of us have work the next morning) to write something very long and meaty to keep you all going. We're nearing the end now, a few chapters more and Simplicity will be signing out – it's quite sad really, but I'm pleased to be finishing!

Please note this chapter is part one of a larger entry.

Please excuse any spelling errors, I have checked but as this chapter is very long I may have missed some of them.

Please review! Your thoughts are always very welcome!


	22. Chapter 22

There were a cluster of fields distancing me from the slope towards the Labyrinth's gates, and I moved through them cautiously, for I know well not to trust the Goblin Kingdom an inch; there would, I am sure, be pins waiting to lacerate my feet were I fool enough to think myself safe.

After half-an-hour of steady walking, the impressive sight of the Labyrinth was immediately before me, stretching out - a vast and majestic spectacle. It was at the foot of a gently sloping hill, which I clambered down with great care; it would not do to give myself an injury before I'd even begun.

Now, the family had taken a route that bypassed the entire Labyrinth, and I hoped that I might be able to find the same way. I feared the Labyrinth too much to face it willingly marched in vain alongside the outer walls: they're terribly overgrown with weeds and dragon-flowers etc, and you have _never_ seen such a fairy infestation! It was truly terrible; they nipped me and teased most terribly, silly little creatures. I suddenly regretted not making purchase of a swatter to kill the nasty things. Fairies are malicious without reason, and I detest them. I must speak to the King about appointing a Gardner.

I was soon in despair after finding the walls to be endless, and all the same, it was terrible, frustrating and disheartening. When I was prepared to give up, to climb back up the slope for a last taunting view of the structure that had bested me before I had even entered it, I glanced back -- and I found a door in my sights. It was massive, outrageously tall and forbidding, but I found myself indebted to its presence. I may have been entering the Labyrinth, but at least it appeared to be willing to help me in my little quest.

There was a knocker, and the logical course was, of course, to request entry with a tap on the door. Sadly, I was of an inadequate height to reach the knocker, but after half an hour of dragging over several boulders and pieces of wood, I was able to balance atop them and snatch the handle. But at this moment, my support toppled, and I left dangling somewhat precariously from my hold on the door's knocker. I was somehow able to brace my legs against the door and knock from that position. It is thankful I was alone -- otherwise I would have been extremely embarrassed.

The knocking worked, and the doors grated open. I jumped backwards onto the sand scattered ground as they moved gradually against the floor, and, when they were open just enough, I ran through before they could close again.

I didn't turn back when I heard them slam to a shut immediately behind me, avoided considering exactly what that meant – for there was no turning back; the only way was forward, back to that terrible castle. Still, I returned not for the castle, but for who was inside.

The first stage of the Labyrinth was a seemingly endless walled track. It was maddening but I made periodical stops, resting my legs and munching on whatever food I found upon dipping my hand into the bag and that sustained me. I felt hungry constantly; I am not use to much walking, am not built for it. But I determined to be sensible – after all, I had all the time in the world, unlike some of the wretched souls who wished their babes away. I am never sure whether to pity them for their loss or despise them for their cruelty.

After a time, marching steadfastly on, I halted at the sight of tiny creatures before me. There was a small family of worms, blue, with tufty hair and bright, sharp little eyes. The father even had a little scarf, bless him, and his wife the tiniest, pink hat one is ever likely to find – it even had a minute daisy attached to it! There were four children, squirming across the path energetically and all staring up at me ever so curiously as I addressed the family. We exchanged greetings, and the father gave me each of their names, his being William, his wife Muriel, and the children -- Casper, Laurel, Ronald, and Donald (twins).

I spoke the following: "Would you happen to know the way to the Goblin King's castle good sir?"

The father worm spoke back ever-so-politely, in a high-pitched colloquial address, "Oh, yer don't want to go there miss, not a nice girl like you! Terrible place!"

I suppressed the urge to agree. "I fear I must, and I would be most indebted if you could direct me towards it. I am not very familiar with the Labyrinth, and this route appears to be leading nowhere in particular."

"Oh, tell me about it miss! The people that come through here, each as befuddled as the last." He chuckled breezily as his children squirmed about, playing some kind of chasing game behind him. "Well, if you_ really_ want to get there, go behind you." He inclined his head to the wall opposite.

I turned to stare at an altogether too solid wall, indistinguishable from the rest. "I beg your pardon, but that appears to be a wall. I am afraid I am not quite small enough to journey through the cracks."

He laughed again, I was quite vexed for I thought him to be mocking me, but he spoke on, "Go ahead, just try walking through!" I sighed, gave him a curious look and decided to take the only option available and gingerly approached the wall. I patted it cautiously before stepping forward. I was shocked when it gave way, a slight, insubstantial film, and I found myself in an entirely different passageway.

"Why thank you! You have no idea how helpful you have been!" I began charging off to the right, but poked my head back, "Excuse me, what path is quickest to the castle?"

"To yer left. Good luck with whatever it is yer up to!" The children spoke up too, bidding me farewell in a chorus of good feeling that made my heart swell.

"Thank you! May Scrabble bless you!" I walked off up the path with renewed enthusiasm, indebted to the worm. I hope to find him once again someday, maybe give him some substantial evidence of my thanks, or even take him a present of some kind – tea maybe? Tea is rare but I know they have some in the castle. I shall have to see about sending a parcel.

At this point the Labyrinth became airier, the passageways being larger, and the experience was much more pleasant. After a while of travelling, the sandy stone of the walls began to be threaded with greenery and vines.

I shook my head in despair at first, for the utter unkemptness of it all, but soon found myself worried more than annoyed as the entire path became obscured by bushes, flowers and excessive quantities of ivy. The waywardness was such that it loomed over me as a wild, thorny mass, it was intimidating. Ultimately, it was necessary for me to turn back for there was no way I could find through.

I navigated my way back from whence I had came, and was hugely alarmed to find a wall where there had been an opening but minutes before. I could have kicked myself for my idiocy; I had known the Labyrinth was tricky, but not known it as a cheat. I had been too trusting. It truly is terribly unfair on all the poor wretches made to run it. There was only one way remaining for me to follow: to my left. There was no point in returning to the weed-ridden passage behind me.

I was frustrated, angry even, and veritably stormed my way in a direction that verily muddled my head from the logic I had grown accustomed to. I didn't pay attention, muttered curses under by breathe as I scurried along -- and shrieked in shock when I walked straight into a hard, all too firm wall.

"Mittens!" I shouted the curse, gritting by teeth and massaging by nose, which stung terribly. I cannot begin to explore the shame for one such as me being such a dolt.

"Oi! Will you_ please_ watch where you are going! Challengers today…" A voice, deep and churning like the swill of gravel boomed overhead, I hurried blindly back, mouth gaping as I looked up awe struck at the sight of a _monster._

It was massive – four times my height, its skin the texture of brick and for all the world could have _been_ brick, had it not pulsated with life when I paid close attention. I could just make out two indentations towards the top that I took for eyes boring down upon me. Looking down, I saw there were two massive, flat feet flayed out against the ground, obviously what the damnation used for shuffling his way about. I gazed at him dumb-struck, open mouthed in awe. "And what do _we_ happen to be looking at?" Its voice dripped sarcasm.

"You – have you been blocking the entrances…?" I trailed off in wonder – never in my life had I ever imagined such a creature…

"'Course not." He paused. For an instant I was graced with a burst of relief that I had not been having my path blocked by all too obvious, lumbering monstrosities the entire time. "You think I could cover this place on me own? Keeping an eye on this bit is a tough job in itself, seriously – you try moving forty tons of sentient concrete, just try, and you'd know what we have to put up with." He sighed in the manner of a much put-upon purveyor of labour. "That's monarchy for you – no understanding. If he got his royal backside off that bloody throne once in his existence and saw the people's conditions, he wouldn't stand for it, you know!"

"There are more of you?" I was struggling to get my head around it. I loathe the sensation of being watched – more so it the watchers happen to be significantly larger than I.

"Lord, we do have a thicky here. . . ." The block snickered and proceeded to speak in a slow, deliberate tone, treating me as quite the imbecile: "Yes – there – are – more – of – us – there -- be – me – Monstro, Crusher, Eliminator, and –" I could have sworn I heard a gulp delaying the finale of his roll call of names, "and Neville…" after his huge booming voice had intoned the fearsome, terrible names of his fellows, the somewhat embarrassed announcement of Neville took me aback.

"Neville? But surely, that doesn't exactly --" I repressed the urge to crumble to the floor in laughter for the absurdness of it.

He interrupted before I could continue, "Yes, I do know. Thank you Miss Clever Clogs, don't blame poor Neville, blame mother, she let Dad pick for the rest of us – and don't you dare laugh or else tremble at my wrath!" I had already clamped my hand to my mouth from where the laughter was beginning to rise.

"Deary me, I am sorry, it's just – _Neville_?" I could no longer restrain myself, and after so long of hardship, effort and toil to laugh was a blissful escape.

"Stop! I command that you stop puny Dwarf!" He utilised the strength of his voice to its full force, it was awesomely powerful, every word came like a gust, it blew at my skirts till they caught in the wind, snatched at my hair until it became undone and I was knelt on the floor in its path, giggling hysterically. "If you don't stop, if you don't stop now – I'll come after you!"

My first instinct was fear, it was a terrible prospect to meet one's end beneath an enraged hunk of stone, but then, I had a brainwave. I darted my head behind me, there was an alcove, a dip in the wall, small and slight but just big enough to conceal me.

"Oh will you now? Is that possible my good sir, with such bulk being attributed to you?" I snorted with most unladylike laughter.

"You bet on it - miniscule slanderer of my illustrious family!' The earth shook as he raised himself from the ground, short, stick thin legs somehow supporting his weight. As his shadow stretched over me as I began to back away, like a mouse distancing itself from a lion.

"Well come on them, I dare you to do as you say - to trample me in revenge!" It sounded madness to my own ears, but the path behind me led to nowhere except where I had come from – and past my adversary was my only way to continue through the Labyrinth.

I continued to back away, slowly, and never too far in front of him so as to allow him to see me allowing my voice to declare my presence – his eyes were positioned too high too see one as short as I. My height had finally found itself useful. "Come and get me then!" I squealed and began to run, pumping my legs against the ground, the alcove grew closer and closer as the earth quaked, pebbles on the ground flying into the air with the monster's weight as he roared and threatened – all most rudely.

He was terribly close when I drew parallel to the dip in the wall. I flattened myself upon it in an instant, and the gap was just so that the monster continued past, blinded by fury to my presence, roaring as much as a block of stone can, pursuing an offender he had passed by.

I didn't dare to look back as I shot towards the newly-created gap in the wall. The Monster only realized his mistake after I had gone.

Panting from the exertion, I spun around to find a huge, wooden door built from rotting, worm riddled wood and choked by ivy blocking the gap. From beyond it I heard a small, frightened voice squeak, "Not _there."_

* * *

The part of the Labyrinth I found myself in at that moment in time was shocking to me – it was the opposite of the stone built structure which I had previously encountered and thought to be its only nature – the part I found myself in now was in no way dead or static; it was alive.

Before me was some kind of garden, inspiring, rambling and enchanting. It must have been beautiful once, long, long ago, but had now been consumed by the passage of time. There was what must have once been a fountain in the middle, a very odd fountain – it was not dry! There was still an arm's length of water in the basin, and vines and branches seemed to dip from the sky as if they were birds taking a drink.

My logic questioned how in the world rain could reach the place, the sky being obscured by a net of treetops, but I ignored by logic – logic has little place in the Labyrinth. It is chaos and the only logic is that of one's self, not the logic of science or conformity.

I trod carefully, frightened that the ground might fall through were I to bring my feet down too heavily – the ground seemed fragile, like treading on cracked porcelain and I was half-afraid for my safety and half-afraid that I might mar its wild beauty.

I noticed things, curious, strange things on my way through: there were toys, scattered about carelessly like they'd been dropped; there was a most odd one shaped like a bird without a face and a blunt beak, it was hard, made from some kind of metal and was rusted to a dirty bronze colour from countless years of neglect. There were spinning tops, one lying golden, untouched as if new atop the earth, I pocketed it, considered I could give it to Jareth as a present, I sadly mused how it was no longer good to any other child, its owner clearly having long since vanished. There were marbles, tin music boxes that I would trip over periodically and small, intricately-decorated boxes among countless other trinkets I cannot now recall.

Then my eyes spied a doll – a beautiful, china doll with her sightless glass eyes piercing through the darkness to penetrate me with their stare. I was intrigued; the doll spoke to me as much as a child of china and silks can, and I pitied her fate. I knelt down and tried to pick her up. The doll refused to budge, so I tried to clear the vines away that ensnared her. I worked hard, time seemed to fly as I grew tired, desperately tugging at each wispy vine to make it abandon its prey.

I was convinced I had freed her; I could see her all, from her beautiful raven hair curled flawlessly and tied back with a single ribbon to her dress spun like a cloth of gold it was astonishingly beautiful, embroidered and adorned with pin pricked sized jewels that shone and sparkled as if to spite the darkness that overwhelmed us both. I was captivated, taken by her immeasurably beauty, her glamour. I considered how Valeriya would worship her, how my own sisters would weep for the beauty and how she put every dolly ever crafted to shame. But then I heard a voice, a voice that rang in my ears as a low, dark threat.

_- Leave her. Leave her be –_

It was odd, bizarre, whether or not it was a voice, or a thought, a command insinuated by the air I can never know. All I know was that it terrified me. "Who's there?"

_- Leave. Leave now. You do not belong here – you are not one of __them__ – you trespass and we shall smite you should thou choose to remain – _

The doll was abandoned in my horror as I rose shakily to my feet, lying flat against the earth, sad eyed and lost at my feet. The life, the prevalence of nature that had captivated me so was growing disturbing, something the words chilled me as it engrossed me for its sheer majesty, its power –

_- Leave! –_

The voice boomed; it seemed to shake the earth, to disturb the fabric of the world with its force. I shrieked and broke into a run, I blinded myself to the tendrils that seemed to curl and twist in the corners of my eyes, as if moving towards me, reaching out as if to claim me, to throttle me. I ignored the abandoned toys, the voice that mocked and derided me as if it knew my every thought, my every cherished hope – as if it took my dreams and shredded them to nothing with its malice.

I caught a fleeting glimpse of a plaque, a golden, shining slab of gold written with words I didn't have the time to read as I bolted towards a door, a door held slightly ajar – a door picked out in the overwhelming darkness by a crack of light channelling through the gap.

It was heavy, cumbersome - I gritted my teeth and braced my feet against the earth throwing all my weight into making it open, feeling indebted for every inch that gave way as the whispers rose to a shout, then a scream, a wild maniacal scream as I squeezed my way through, panting, dishevelled, and terrified out of my wits.

I took unsteady, shaking steps from the door, walked backwards, my eyes ever fixed on the door, captivated by how the darkness seemed to seep out from the crack in the door I'd left open in my panic – I was paying no attention when I took a step backwards and wandered blindly into a chute that sent me plummeting down, deep into the bowels of the earth.

* * *

Now, all of this most seemed most out of character to any of you beholding this text, with me being established as a figure of ample piety and restraint but trust that there was good reason for me to scream. I am in no way accustomed to plunging thirty feet down a metal chute into, of all things, a damp-ridden, miserable, rat-infested Oubliette.

I was shaking as I staggered to my feet, never have my nerves been shaken so as in that garden above; it a was horrible, terrible place, as if it were a morgue scented with roses to mask the menace. It was like a place of burial, a place for the dead to be catalogued and used to fuel a wicked, unnatural form of life – I had seen no bodies, but seeing those _toys_, those mementos obviously once held so dear – it chilled me then and it still does now, to recall the toys lying half-buried beneath the weight of their enchantment. I shuddered to imagine just how many elements of life lie long buried there, veiled from view.

I shook my head vigorously, tried to clear my thoughts and gain a good clear view of my predicament. I concentrated on my surroundings, my somewhat bleak future outlook: I was in an Oubliette, a particularly filth-infested one with some skeletons shackled to the walls – I was disgusted to find them when closely scrutinizing my surroundings in the shadowed room (a good eye is one of my blessings, and I needed it for in the room the only light shone down through the hole through which I had fallen) their skulls grinned grotesquely as if eternally amused by some grim joke. Rats scampered about the floor, their claws rattling against the floor – but only when they brushed against my legs did I shy away. Luckily, such things do not generally affect me to any great degree, so I was able to block out their presence along with the other unpleasant distractions as I wandered around, patting the surface in my gingerly in my near-blindness in search of an escape.

I was totally absorbed in my examination of the hovel when I cried out in alarm after feeling a heavy, knobbled hand fall heavily on my shoulder. I spun around, panting, terror-struck for what might meet me – Hoggle was there. He looked mildly irritated with his free hand coiled around a candle. He was unperturbed by the wax that snaked down onto his hands.

I brought a hand to my chest to calm my breathing, "Hoggle – you scared me half to death!"

"What do yer expect? We're in an Oubliette, yer s'pose to be scared," he chuckled horribly.

"This is in no way amusing." I lifted an eyebrow.

"Shut yer trap," I glared at him in outrage. "You're talkin' to me and right now I'm the one saying what's funny." I opened my mouth so as to say something, to reprimand him for his coarseness but something in his expression told me such action would be futile.

He passed me the candle and began fumbling with his belt, rattling a congregation of loose, uncut jewels and keys in the process.

"Why are you here? How did you know I was trapped here?"

"I heard yer shrieking through the wall – the home's next door," he said it perfectly casually.

"You call one of these, terrible pits your home?"

"Yep." I shook my head in disbelief, but gave up on any hope of conversation. "Ah, here it is!" His voice rang with triumph as he pressed a large, ugly key into what I had taken for nothing more than a simple wall. He twisted the key, and I heard a loud click that echoed around the room as a slab of stone swung inwards, Hoggle reached out a hand for his candle, which I promptly returned to him. He stomped through the door.

I trotted in after him, and found myself in Hoggle's home. It wasn't much of a home, being tiny and squalid, with a rickety wooden bed spread with a filthy, rough blanket and no pillow – there was a small stove and a messy stack of coals besides it. Then there was a shelf, in contrast to the filth and chaos of the rest of the room, it was neat and meticulously arranged – there was a single book, brightly bound with gilt lettering leant against the wall, a gold fob watch with the chain dangling down, a lady's hat with a beautiful floral arrangement piled high upon it and an entire assortment of jewels and trinkets reverently placed.

After I had finished my observation of the room, I returned my attentions to Hoggle, who was studying me intensely, candle still in hand. It was unnerving to see his gaze highlighted by the candle's flame as I stuttered out my thanks, "I feel you deserve my thanks Hoggle, it was noble of you to come to my aid."

"Oh don't worry bout it; yer have something I want see." He gestured towards my neck, I had no idea just what he meant.

"What do you mean?" I assessed myself, looked down, attempting to see what he was implying.

"Yer necklace, I want it, hand it over," his hands made grabbing motions as I recoiled from him.

"My mother's necklace? I would sooner give you my soul!" I was outraged as such a proposal and my shocked tones were a clear reflection of my fury.

He rolled his eyes, "An' what good would that be to me? Please. I've just saved yer life – ain't yer grateful?"

"Well yes…" my voice trailed off as a whisper.

"Give it ere' then!" His voice was insistent.

"No!" I paused, holding my necklace tightly as it still hung around my neck as if he would reach to yank it away should I leave it exposed to his greedy eyes. "Besides, what do you mean, saved my life – I would have soon found my way out without you!"

He snorted dismissively, "from there? Wadda yer think them skeletons were doing in there? Enjoying the view?" He snorted derisively.

"Please Hoggle, have you no compassion? It is all I have left of my dead mother," I paused to cross myself effortlessly; "may Scrabble rest her soul." My voice spoke the utterance with a holy reverence.

"Oh shut yer blathering!" He sighed, scratching the back of his head, looking frustrated, irritated even. "Look, if you won't give me the necklace, what else have you got?"

I rummaged frantically in the pocket of my apron, fishing out a variety of things – notepaper, a small pamphlet on human superstitions (terribly funny!) by Quaddle Arsebladder Esq. (a highly respected Dwarfish author) I had picked up at some anonymous point in my journey and a beautiful, shining spinning top from a place I remembered all too well.

I held it towards him, moved it skilfully so that it caught in the light from his candle, I saw his eyes ogle the sparkling sheen of its surface as I spoke coaxingly, "Will this do?"

He nodded eagerly, grasping for it as I shoved it back into my apron in the blink of an eye, "hey!" His voice was dismayed.

"You will get your reward upon guiding me safely to the castle. I do not trust you, Hoggle; had you been more cordial earlier matters may have been different, but now, I am afraid your prize must be delayed in its presentation." I smiled, elated by my own cunning.

Hoggle looked at me, visibly furious but resigned to my will should he wish to be handed my pretty trinket, "Oh, all right! I'll take yer -- no tricks mind you – and yer better gimme that the second we get to the gates. Right?"

"Why of course." I wondered how on earth I could have ever once pined for his attentions. He was truly a horrid little dwarf.

Hoggle scowled at me somewhat menacingly at my sweetened tone. "Come on then." He reached for his keys, and took out a particularly crooked one and jammed it violently into a crack in the wall, twisted it forcefully and – instead of another room, a broom cupboard spilled it's contents with a resounding crash onto the floor, I flinched as Hoggle cursed like a sailor, roughly kicking ancient pots and pans back into place before reaching for another key – a key that this time opened the door to a room with a dazzling beam of light shining through – a ladder led up to the sunshine.

I peered down into my apron as I followed his heavy steps towards the ladder, considering how that place, that terrible, threatening place that had stormed and raged over my presence allowed me to slip away with a memento of my time there. A trophy that won me my safe passage through the Labyrinth. It puzzled me; it still does now, for it makes no sense. But then, very little here does.

All I know was that the doll, the beautiful, radiant doll is special somehow, and that I will never know why.

* * *

First of all, many thanks to Nienna Telrunya for betaing this for me! It's thanks to her this is infinitely cleaner and smoother than what I'm sure my regular readers are use to.

If you are finding any of the characters here irritating idiots then I am succeeding. They're all supposed to be to an extent unlikable, not as in 'hate' unlikable but more in the way they can be annoying and on occasion infuriating. Things change though, and they need to be maddening in order for there to be room for significant learning curves and exploration of whether or not lessons are genuinely learned.

Readers, thanks for your patience, I hope you enjoy this chapter and remember: reviews are the writer's equivalent of life blood. I know some of you are out there but appear to be terminally shy of hitting the review button. There aren't too many chapters left now, so review - review before it's too late!

:cue dramatic music:


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I did a good job at giving the impression that this was utterly dead. After receiving many story alerts and reviews for this long after I stopped writing it in 2007, I started writing again. I managed to write this chapter in a single night, and (fingers crossed) will turn out the rest of the chapters with similar speed. I don't plan many more chapters for this, and hope to wrap things up in four or five more instalments, but fingers crossed I'll be able to pull my typing fingers out on this and finish what I began. Thank-you for sticking with this, and there will be an end.**

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* * *

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When we emerged from the darkness, I could not help but squint for the sun was of remarkable brilliance. We had made our way out into a small, immaculately neat courtyard that was walled in by pristinely cut hedges. As I marvelled at the glorious neatness of the scene Hoggle grunted "C'mon, then!" He started stomping away, and I hastened after him.

"Hold back, Hoggle! My legs are not as sturdy as yours!"

"They're plenty strong." He stopped, and bent his hand down to an indecent level in order to examine my ankles. "As thick as tree trunks, those."

"You brute!" With a shriek of outrage, I kicked out at him impulsively, catching him on the nose. With a howl he staggered back, and I walked past him with my head held aloft.

"Right! That's it, I've had all I'll take from you. Work it out for yerself!" I darted back, and was just quick enough to catch a glimpse of Hoggle's bloodied nose before he turned on his heel and abandoned me.

"I will cope perfectly well without you, know that you cad!" With an exaggeratedly loud snort of derision, I turned on my heel and continued on my own. He had served his purpose by leading me from the Oubliette. I needed him no more, or at least that was what I thought at the time. Later, I was proven to be wrong. Oh my, I've just given away a brilliant twist. If I were in a better state, I might have a more pleasing sense of drama. Forgive me, diary!

The pleasingly ordered state of the courtyard rapidly gave way to crumbling, ruined walls, broken statues and defaced fountains in the forms of cherubs that dribbled dank, foul smelling water. When I looked above me, I realized that the sky was as black as pitch. When I looked ahead of me once more, it was nigh on impossible to see the sights I had just observed. A shudder overcame me, and I was overtaken by a fear something frightful. What was to become of me: poor, helpless Simplicity? Alone in a Labyrinth of madness and horror, who was to be my saviour?

Certainly not Hoggle. The little beast (!!!).

In my fearful state, everything was heightened. The screeches of birds overhead sounded like the shrieks of crazed, fire-spouting dragons, the trickle of water like a beat building up to my doom. When I heard shuffling footsteps and wheezing breaths, I froze right besides the wall that I was nearest to. The steps became louder, the breaths more laboured and feeble. I looked in the direction of their source, and made out a vague, shuffling silhouette.

I shrieked and attempted to scramble away, only to collide with the source of my fear. The shadow mumbled, and then a voice high above me trilled "Who's this dummy?" I knew the voice; I had heard it once before, long ago.

I heard the scratch of a match against a wall, and when I looked at the stranger once more they were illuminated by the light of a small lamp. I could just make out a face that was obscured underneath layers and layers of robes and voluminous white hair. It was the crazed Wise Man I had encountered with Jareth at the market. "Why sir! What brought you here?"

"A child! A small, lost child!" His voice spoke of great wonder and amazement; my question was utterly ignored.

I frowned. "You are mistaken, sir. I am a Dwarf. Miss Simplicity Battleaxe."

"Battleaxe you say, hmm? Good stock? Thoroughbred?"

"My family's reputation is impeccable. Now, sir, I must ask, how does one leave this place? I am fearful for my safety."

"'Fearful for my safety'", the bird-head mocked, "Good grief. Grow a brain, this ain't the Bahamas!"

I glared upwards, hoping it could me see me despite the failings of my own vision. "Can you help me?"

"What was it you were asking?"

"How to leave this wretched place. How to reach the castle."

After a long, meditative pause, the Wise Man spoke "These paths life takes us on are sometimes steep, other times mellow, most often completely without flavour. For they wind around and around, until the blathering snake can no longer traverse the tunnels it dug as a sapling, and shrivels up like an orphaned toad. The mother amphibian, that long ago warbled along the sky-tracks to Albion..."

I stared in amazement as he continued, having remembered why I had hastened away from his tent with Jareth in the first place. He was remarkably insane, more so than most. I scanned his body, looking for whatever might be of use to me. His bright, cheering lamp struck me as the best prize his person had to offer, and after checking that he was entirely possessed by his mad ramblings I wrenched the lamp from his grip and ran. "Wh-at!?" was the only sound I discerned from the Wise Man, as well as a set of unspeakable (and unrecordable) profanities from his parasitic bird-head. I ran as if my life depended upon it, winding my way around high, shadowy walls and unperceived obstacles until I found myself in a forest. The first thing I noted was that the trees glittered when the light from my lamp was cast upon them. It was positively disgusting, as if the forest had been defaced with the crushed remains of massacred fairies. The twinkling was positively obscene, and I tried to avoid looking at the trees lest I notice more gaudiness.

A few forest sprites approached me - attempting to tear off pieces of my dress for trophies - but I growled fearsomely (a technique father had taught me when instructing me in self-defence) and stamped on them. I managed to crush one, which resulted in a horrendous, hopelessly sticky mess. I wasted several minutes scraping my boot clean on the calloused trunk of a nearby tree (one relatively unspoilt by glitter). Following that, I was left entirely alone for the greater part of my journey. Only when I was close to emerging from the trees was I made aware of the presence of others.

I first became aware I was not alone when I heard the sound of clapping, it came from some distance away but was nonetheless distinct. I followed the sound in hope of discovering some form of civilisation. The clapping was soon accompanied by boisterous whooping, and devilish shrieks. I slowed the pace of my walk, moving more carefully in the direction of the source. I stopped by a pair of trees, peering through the gap between them and observing. Ahead of me was a clearing that was filled with the most extraordinary creatures. They had wild, red fur that resembled the flames of a fire and bizarre, protruding faces, yet they moved with the sprightliness of men, leaping and dancing in a circle with apparently boundless enthusiasm and energy. At the centre of the circle was a device that appeared to be of human construction, a large black box that released a pulsing, relentless noise; the din was positively terrible, yet somehow magnetic despite its unpleasant auditory texture. The creatures appeared to be partaking in some kind of ritual which involved periodically stopping to inflict violence (in the form of headbutting, or slapping) on an appointed partner. I watched, amazed, for some minutes before drawing back. I was nearly a safe distance away when I heard a branch crack beneath my foot, and the noise from the creatures stopped.

"Hey, did you hear something, man?"

"Yeah. And it didn't sound like a cat who wanted to be caught!"

"Let's go and see if they'll join in the Par-tay!" With shrieks of glee, the creatures began their pursuit. I hastened through the tree, speeding up every time I heard a whoop or a cry. The sounds became louder and louder, and I was soon running so quickly the lamp swung haphazardly in my grip. I was stopped when one of the ruffians leaped before me, blocking my path.

"Wah-hay!" It remarked, leering at me with hideous intimacy. It recoiled quickly. "Eww. It's a dog, dudes!"

"Woah, gross. Is that a walnut or a face?"

"Why you thugs! Clear the path this instant!"

"Why should we, butt-face?"

I thrust the lamp into the offending creature's face, waving it wildly. "You will stay back, for if you do not I will let set you alight and watch as you burn to a cinder."

Its grotesque face splintered into a nervous, face-breaking grin. "Not so hasty, lady. We don't mean no harm." He was backed up by a chorus of equally nervous 'nos' from his companions. They all inched away from me, crushing dead leaves beneath their clawed feet, their fear palpable.

I moved back more hastily, a wild glint surely in my eyes. "Remember, if I hear as much as a foot-fall from you beasts, I will not hesitate to set the nearest tree alight and let the whole forest _burn_."

They shrieked, and leaped up other one another's bodies in their efforts to escape me. Some of their heads detached themselves from their bodies and bounced away separately, howling and yipping like fear-maddened dogs.

Following that incident, I found my way out of the forest with relative ease. I did not emerge in the gloomy, glitter sullied pathway I had traversed before, rather I found myself on the edge of a large, pleasant looking field. Daisies and buttercups swayed in a delicate breeze, and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue with nary a cloud in sight. The castle was just beyond it, a jagged rent on the landscape. With a smile, I started walking across. At the back of mind, I faintly perceived a voice but soon dismissed it as a remnant of the disturbing incidents I had recently endured. The flowers smelt heavenly, and the ground was as soft as any Monster-hair carpet upon which I had ever trodden foot. I could only thank the Good Lord Scrabble for his generosity and benevolence in offering me easy passage for the last stage of my journey.

As I progressed, my mind was overtaken by my memories of the children. Olga's detailed, thoroughly filling letters, Valeriya's habit of sucking on her china dolly's fist when she was fretful and Jareth's leanings towards sadism. I smiled wistfully as I recalled the time he had snatched an errant Goblin by the scruff of its neck and held it face down in a vat of ale until it stopped kicking. The poor creature had needed to be resuscitated, and Jareth had laughed riotously as another Goblin manically struck its balled hand against the dormant soul's heart. Jareth received several good, hard smacks that day. Nice, firm discipline makes for obedient children and contented peasants. Discipline makes for a world where children of privilege obey, and the lowly are meek and humble. The mere thought of such an orderly paradise was intoxicating.

"Open yer eyes, yer fool!" The shout was too tremendous, too panicked, to be ignored. My eyelids shifted, and I shrieked and started circling my arms when I realized I was neck-deep in a pool that was filled with a pink, sludge-like substance. I was utterly disgusted; the place reeked of magic. Glitter peppered the water and the air alike, and I started to choke. Through the mist, I perceived a small, stocky figure. By his voice, I knew it to be Hoggle. He called again, "I'm throwing a rope! Hold on when you get it, I'll pull you in!"

I tried fervently to keep afloat, and occupied my mind by fretting over how my poor, blue silk dress was bound to be ruined. And my bag? What of my bag? I thought I felt that my hand was wrapped around something, and when I (with great difficulty) raised my arm saw that it was indeed still in my possession, I was immensely relieved. After all, had it been lost, I would no longer have had the comfort of your pages, would I?

Eventually a thick rope was slung before me. With great difficulty, I managed to tie the end of it around the handles of my travel bag before grabbing it myself. "I'm ready!" I shouted.

Hoggle heaved at the rope, at first I thought it wasn't going to work – I remained stuck in the same position – but eventually his effort paid off, and I began to shift through the substance. I could hear his pained grunts and groans, and shouted to urge him on. "It's working, Hoggle! It's working!" Eventually, after much laboured breathing and cursing, I was dragged to a shallow enough part of the pool for me to wade out by myself.

Panting myself from the strain, I pulled my sludge covered limbs and bag up to the embankment. When I reached Hoggle, I was too exhausted to acknowledge him, as he was me. I simply collapsed flat onto my back, relieved to be breathing air unsullied by enchantment and glamour. When I finally recovered, I leaned my head over to look at Hoggle. He was also lying on his back, and I noticed that the blood resulting from our earlier encounter had dried over his upper lip. Out of a sense of necessity, I spoke, "My thanks to you, Hoggle. And I must admit, I am sorry for ... the harm I caused you previously."

"Oh you mean kicking me in the nose? Oh, that didn't hurt at _all_." He sneered, still the same unpleasant, miserable man he always had been. For some bizarre reason I didn't even know myself, I found his negativity highly amusing and started to giggle. I suppose I was amused by the oddity of our situation. I had a pearly, pink sheen from my escapade in the pool, and Hoggle had a bloodied (and possibly broken) nose from my earlier attack upon his person. Despite all the misery and woe I had had to suffer through, I was in good spirits. "What's so funny?" Hoggle questioned, remarking on my laughter.

"Oh, it's just that this whole situation is too silly for words. I am sorry."

"You bet it is. Don't you know magic when you see it? You should do, considering how long you've spent in the vicinity of his most terrible Majesty."

I threw him a glare. "Magic is not the stuff of Nurses. My business was Jareth, and Jareth only."

"But he's got more magic in him than both his parents put together! He's been vanishing and re-appearing miles away ever since he could toddle."

I shrugged. "I can only assume he has always been unusually good with me, then. Of course, there were incidents, but those are to be expected with a magical child."

"He's more magical than he has any right to be. He'll be dangerous when he's older, mark my words."

"Oh, he won't be a danger to anyone. That's why I'm returning to the castle, to ensure he's safe, protected. Along with Lasander and his sisters, of course." I amended my interests quickly, not wishing to sound too singular.

"Good to luck to you for that. I wondered why you were going back to that hell-pit. Knew it had to be a mad reason."

"Mad? Why so?"

"Well, the whole place has gone to pot, hasn't it? The King ain't being a king, the daughters don't have a clue what to do, and they say the eldest boy is deadly ill."

"Lasander? Where did you hear such a thing?" My tone gained a sense of urgency in my alarm, I sat up and stared at him arrestingly.

"One of the walls was gossiping when I was passing. It's all they do, blather, blather, blather. They never shut up, stupid th-"

"Well, what did they say, man? A crisis could be imminent! I must know!"

"You wouldn't think I'd just saved you from drowning in a pool of fairy goo, would you?" When he noticed my continued seriousness, he responded. "Well, one of the walls was saying its cousin is the facing wall in his sick room. Apparently, his skin's turned green. Toad green."

"Never! Walls lie, they exaggerate, they're gossips, as you say."

"For heaven's sake, what motive would a wall have for lying? Nothing I say's gonna satisfy you, is it? You're so darn prissy."

"I am not!" I insisted, indignant. "I am simply concerned, that is all." I stood up, surveying my dress with a look of unmitigated disgust. "I think it's high time we finish our journey, don't you?"

"Hey, I saved you! That's it. I never signed up for going to the castle with you."

"Oh, but you did. Don't remember the lovely talisman I gave you as payment?"

"That was all well and good till' you went and kicked me in the face!"

"You mustn't dwell on the past. And besides, if you truly wanted to abandon me, why did you come to my rescue?"

His cheeks were rapidly overwhelmed by a fiery blush. "I was just passing! That's all!" After another pause, he mumbled. "I'll go with you. Only to the castle gates, mind. I'm not stepping foot past there."

"That is all I would ever ask for." I beamed, impulsively leaning forward and planting a quick kiss on his rough cheek.

He instantly started rubbing at his cheek with his sleeve, his face one of extreme torment. "Eww. What did you go and do that for? You're covered in goo!"

I remembered myself, and could not help but giggle again. "I'm sorry," I pronounced, leaning over to fish a handkerchief from his vest and wipe my face and hands clean before I dared open my bag. He glared at me as I passed the napkin back to him, pushing it back into his pocket as hastily as he could. The contents of my bag were miraculously unspoilt, and after picking out a clean dress and underclothes I vanished behind a rock to change. I abandoned my blue silk gown out of necessity, and was excessively saddened to leave it for the enjoyment of the fairies and other such pests. Still, it was not to be helped and I was pleased to occupy a clean set of clothes again.

When I re-emerged, I noticed Hoggle staring resentfully at my bag. "That's why it was so damn hard to pull you in. Women are mad."

"No, we simply care for matters such as decorum and pride." I smiled icily, and picking up my bag began to walk before I realized I had no idea what direction to go in. "Where do we go from here?"

Hoggle informed me that we were adjacent to The Bog of Eternal Stench, a foul place far worse than the fairy pool. Apparently, it was best to traverse the rubbish dumps of the central zone. The smell was not pleasant, but the paths were easy to navigate for those who knew them, and they were as familiar to Hoggle as were the many contours and deformities of his hands. We reached them after a brief walk, during which I questioned Hoggle about his life inside the Labyrinth. According to testimony, he had quit his position at the Castle after the indignity of his position as 'stable boy' became too intense to bear. He had made it his task to familiarize himself with the Labyrinth, and live within its walls, relying on its eccentricities for his safety and privacy. The plan had worked marvellously, in his words: "No bugger's been mad enough to follow me in. You'd be surprised by how peaceful it is in there. 'Part from the occasional runner, of course. They never shut up. It's always 'oh, I never thought he'd actually come' or 'oh no, what am I going to tell Mum now Freddy's gone!' blah blah blah. Idiots, all of 'em. Worse than walls, they always think they're so damn important. "

The junk heaps themselves were impressive despite being objects of unmitigated disgust. They were compounds of filth and debris, and all manner of strange and marvellous objects could be seen sticking out of their bulks. I saw teddy bears, books, bones and, most marvellously of all, the wheel of a bicycle, a contraption I had once seen in a book written by an eminent Dwarfish professor on human paraphernalia. It was a fascinating read; I only regret that I cannot remember its title. Hoggle was quick to warn me off touching any of the wonders I saw, informing me that I might inadvertently be accused of breaching a person's privacy. He told me of a strange breed of creature, a junk lady, a deformed and mutated human who exists only to hoard meaningless objects for storage upon their back. I thought I perceived a few in the distance a few times, but never saw any up close.

There was not time to reach the Castle before the sun went down, and Hoggle took me to a quaint little hotel he knew that had been built inside a hollowed out rubbish heap. It was disarmingly charming, with little, cheery lamps by the entrance and flowerpots on either side of the doormat. Hoggle seemed to be on good terms with the landlord, a strange looking man who can only assume is some sort of cross between a Troll and a Goblin (Scrabble knows how!), shaking his hand and slapping him heartily on the back. We were both given separate rooms, and I was immensely grateful for the chance to wash in a tub full of (relatively) clean water. That night, I slept peacefully, most of the fears and anxieties that had stuffed my mind beforehand being replaced by hopes for how I could help improve life for the children. The poor, frightened children.

The next morning, we were treated to a breakfast of gruel. It tasted faintly of rot, but I would have eaten a putrefying horse carcass and consumed what I was given with a hearty appetite. Hoggle ate at a similar pass, helping lessen my guilt at my unladylike demeanour. We gave our host our thanks, and left him to complete our journey.

As we reached the end of the Junk piles, I saw the Castle up close for the first time in years. The thought of entering it again was a terrifying prospect, but I did not allow my steps to falter. I needed to be brave if I were to be of even the remotest use to the children. I needed to solid, reliable – the exact opposite of their father.

"Are you certain you wanna do it, go in there again, I mean?" Hoggle questioned as we drew closer and closer to the gate.

"Well, there would have been no point in my coming all this way and facing the dangers I have faced, if I were to turn back now. The children need me, especially if Lasander is indeed ill. They will need me more than they know."

"But can you really do anything? _Really?_"

"I can only try. I wish it were the great devil himself who were sick, rather than his son. That poor boy. I do hope his condition has improved."

"If you see him, will you mention me?"

"Lasander knows you?"

"Probably not, but you'll find out either way. I used to help him with his horse-riding when he was a little un'. He was always well behaved, that one. Placid, quiet. A good little kid."

I smiled at Hoggle as we reached the doors. "I will tell him you asked about his health."

He nodded curtly, his eyes betraying more emotion than his speech "Thanks."

"Well, I suppose this is the end of our journey together." I announced, surprised by the calm. I had half expected to find the city wall torn down in a fit of madness, or at least scorched by one of Jareth's attempts at arson. Instead it looked pristine; everything was deadly quiet. The silence unsettled me, and my desire to enter the Castle became stronger than ever.

Hoggle held out his hand, and I offered mine to him. We shook hands smartly, exchanging smiles and blushes. "Good luck to yer," he paused, glancing bashfully downward, "I was only teasing when I said about your legs, y'know."

"It doesn't matter, really." I reassured him, releasing his hand.

He started walking away, and stopped after a few feet. I got the impression he wanted to suggest something to me – an alternative plan, maybe? – but my expression convinced him not to bother. He waved, and I heard him speak for one final time, "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Hoggle." I waved him goodbye, and wished him safe passage back to his den, until he was lost from sight.

Checking my bag for my precious note from the King, I knocked boldly on the door. No one answered initially, and it took four attempts before I heard footsteps hasten towards the gate. They were swift and light, not the frenzied scampering of a Goblin. The viewing panel was pulled back, and I gasped in surprise when I beheld Alexandra's tear-stained face. She looked bedraggled, exhausted and far older than her fifteen years. She gasped in shock when she looked down and noticed me. "Simplicity? What are you doing here?"

"Your father sent for me, to help with Jareth's care." It was only a half-truth, but it was a necessary deception. Alexandra nodded, clearly dazed, and I listened to the scrape of the bolt as she opened the small door in the gate intended for visitors of my size.

Once I was inside the walls of the Goblin City, Alexandra collapsed onto her knees and embraced me. She sobbed into my shoulder, her voice barely audible. "Oh, Simplicity. Everything's been so ghastly, I can't describe it. I just can't."

I extracted myself gently from her embrace, "What is wrong?"

"It's brother Lasander," she gulped, the words clearly painful for her, "He's dead."

* * *

**E/N: dun dun dun, indeed. Not that I didn't drop some massive hints throughout the story for that cliff-hanger, but still. It has been over two years since I last adopted Simplicity's 'voice' and I may have become confused about the chronology and/or character names/personalities. Please forgive me for this, I plan to go back over the story and bring it up to scratch. Although many of the spelling mistakes are intentional, just as great a number are typos that I need to correct.**

**If you want another chapter, I strongly suggest clicking the review button. Remember, if you sign in I will respond to any questions/queries you have about the story. Please feel free to point out inconsistencies, I'm sure there are some!**

**P.S. I inadvertently quoted the title of Scattered Logic's 'A Necessary Deception' back there. Weird. Is it possible to plagiarize titles, I wonder?**


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